


Angush's Snippets/Oneshots (NSFW)

by TheAngush



Series: Angush's Oneshots/Snippets/Shorts [2]
Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: F/F, F/M, Sexual Content, Vanilla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-08-10 06:15:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7833499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngush/pseuds/TheAngush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of NSFW snippets, oneshots, and test chapters for things I can not yet fully commit to—because while most of them are NOT connected, I'd rather not clutter my profile by making them individual works. <em>(to find a particular pairing of those listed above, search the <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7833499?view_full_work=true">"entire work"</a> page for "pairing(s)")</em></p><p>See also: <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/7833481">the SFW equivalent of this</a>.</p><p><b>Latest update:</b> an AU oneshot where Mouse Protector is Taylor's mother, and she and Danny attend a parent/teacher conference. <em>(Danny/Mouse Protector)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fantasy Worm - Taylor & Emma, proof-of-concept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Preface:** A snippet I did for an old idea from the QQ ideas thread where Worm was a fantasy world. My take on an opener, I guess. It may be a little abrupt at the start, and at the end, as it's not finished per se, but I had no idea where to take it. May work up something else in this world at some point. (4,212 words)
> 
>  **Contains:** lesbians and (potential) feels. 
> 
> **Pairing(s):** Taylor/Emma.

I looked again at the letter in my hand as I walked. The hastily scratched map with messy arrows leading from my house on the docks to some place in the outer city, using a roundabout route that cut through abandoned, overgrown gardens and alleys and even between Brockton’s inner walls, which were barely big enough for me to squeeze through now.  
  
Years ago we’d play hide and seek in the empty areas of the city with the other docks children. But we’d stopped a long time since. When she’d moved to the inner city.  
  
Emma was no cartographer, but I knew the outer city well enough to follow her scratchings. It was her words that I looked at now, her elegant but obviously hurried handwriting telling me she wanted to meet.  
  
I’d gotten her note three days ago, and deciding to go had been difficult. More so than I’d expected. A part of my mind was telling me even now not to go, that it was a trap. That she’d have brought a bunch of her new noble friends, and they’d all push me down and ridicule me for believing in her.  
  
But I didn’t listen to that part. Because I _did_ believe in her. I loved her like no-one else, and I knew _she’d_ loved _me_ too, at least once. She had to have a reason for shunning me. She just _had_ to! And I needed to know what that reason was.  
  
So, I hurried down the streets, feeling the hot cobblestones even through the soles of my shoes, the worn pavings heated by the afternoon sun. I turned a corner and squeezed through an alley between two shacks exploding with screaming children and wives and popped out the other side. A run-down inn sat across from me, the very planks that formed the walls cracked and bent, the rooftop shingles in a similar state of disrepair.  
  
Not the kind of place Emma had frequented, even before she’d changed. And certainly not anywhere I’d expect a bunch of prissy noble girls to lay in waiting, especially with no guarantee I’d be showing up.  
  
That didn’t stop me from hesitating outside the door.  
  
I dropped my head against the wood and sighed, closing my eyes. I hadn’t seen Emma in months. And months before that. She’d been like a completely different person that day at the markets, when I’d bumped into her and her father’s entourage while fetching the witch doctor, useless bastard that he was, for my da.  
  
No. She _had_ been a different person. That hadn’t been my Emma.  
  
My Emma was waiting inside.  
  
_I hope_.  
  
I pushed past the door, almost managing to ignore the way my hands trembled. The inside was dank and musty, lit only by candles in holders on the walls and tables, all dancing to some unknowable tune. Wind whistled softly through the cracks in the walls.  
  
The only occupants were a fat man who’d already drunk himself into a stupor by the fireplace, a tall dark-skinned man polishing cups behind the bar, and a young woman stood attentively by the stairs, a sword at her hip and a cloth wrapped about her face. She was watching me with keen eyes.  
  
I looked down at Emma’s half-crumpled letter. Seeing exactly what she wanted me to do, I swallowed past the lump in my throat and strode over to the swordswoman. She didn’t stop staring at me as I approached.  
  
I stopped in front of her. “Um…”  
  
The woman said nothing, just looking at me.  
  
I glanced down at the letter again, then up at the woman. “I’ve a letter for… Mistress Valerie.”  
  
The woman let out a slow breath, drawing a pocket watch from her jacket and glancing at it. “You were supposed to be here eight minutes ago,” she said, looking back up at me.  
  
I flushed. “I got held up.”  
  
“Hmm,” the woman said. “Miss Valerie is in the last room on the left. Knock twice, then once, then twice again. You’ve only got an hour—or fifty-two minutes, now. You won’t be disturbed. Use it wisely.”  
  
I nodded, glancing at the stairs. “Um—“  
  
“Just go,” she said, pushing me forward. “She’s waiting.”  
  
I caught myself on the railing, and glanced back at the woman for a moment. Then I started up the stairs, coming to a stop outside the door at the end of the hall.  
  
I took a deep breath, then knocked as instructed. I trusted her.  
  
The door opened a crack, enough to see a sliver of fiery red hair and big blue eyes peeking through. Then it closed again. I heard the sound of metal against metal as she undid the chain, then the door was flung open once more, and Emma pulled me through, locking it behind us.  
  
I watched her closely. She was just as beautiful as I remembered. More so, actually. I hadn’t thought that possible, but it was true. The curves of her body were obscured by her rough-shod clothing—which she _had_ to have borrowed that from a servant or something; she’d been wearing silk the last time I’d seen her. Of course, remembering that put a damper on my elation at seeing her again, but only a little. Still, despite her rather bulky clothes, I could tell she’d grown. And it hurt that I hadn’t been there to experience it first-hand.  
  
She clicked the chain into place, then turned to me, meeting my eyes. For a long minute we just stood there, watching each other. Then she threw herself into my arms and kissed me deeply, her tongue sliding between my lips. My questions—about the woman downstairs, the fake name, why we had to meet at this rundown inn—all melted on her lips. I fell against the wall, bringing my arms up to her hips as I kissed back, moaning into her mouth as she matched my fervour.  
  
I wasn’t sure how long our tongues danced, how long our hands caressed each other’s bodies in that old, familiar way, bringing back memories of the countless evenings we’d spent together while my da worked the docks, always making a mess of my bed—and sometimes our clothes. But it didn’t matter. This was good. And it _felt_ good, too. Like a return to the good old days; to the intimacy I’d sorely missed ever since she’d left.  
  
I gasped as her hand slipped beneath the waist of my trousers, sliding down my thigh. Then, remembering what I’d come here for, I grabbed her hand and pulled away from the kiss. Emma whined breathlessly against my throat, then laid her head against my collarbone. Our chests pressed together as we panted in sync, struggling to regain our breath.  
  
“Emma?” I said, breaking the silence, though I wasn’t really sure what to say. She didn’t reply. “I-It’s good to see you, too. I, uh… how have you been?”  
  
She looked up at me, beautiful blue eyes locking with mine. Her lip trembled, and her eyes watered with tears, and then she buried her face in my chest and cried.  
  
“Wha—uh—“ I shifted my hands and picked her up, holding her against me, then shuffled over to the dingy bed in the corner and sat down. She curled her legs up against her chest and clutched at my tunic as her body was wracked with sobs.  
  
My hesitation vanished. I ran gentle, soothing lines down her back with my hands, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear. I didn’t know what else to do, but it seemed to work well enough. After a minute or two, she calmed down, reduced to sniffling every so often, but still I stayed quiet. If she needed time, I’d give it to her. I didn’t have much else to offer.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Emma said, mumbling against my chest. She curled up a little more, pressing against me.  
  
I ran a hand through her hair. “I—It’s okay.”  
  
She shook her head weakly. “No it’s not. I never should have said… y-you know.”  
  
“Did you mean it?”  
  
Emma jerked her head up to look at me. Her eyes were red and wet. “No! Of course not!”  
  
“Then it’s okay,” I said, cupping her chin and using my thumb to wipe away the wet streaks on her cheeks. “I forgive you. Really, I do.”  
  
Emma’s lip trembled again. “How? I—I insulted your m-mother. I u-used _this_ against you! I called you—I c-called you—”  
  
The reminder made me twitch, but I pushed the pain down. “You didn’t mean it.” I leaned down and kissed her gently. “So it’s okay.”  
  
She ducked her head and sniffled, pressing against my chest again. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.  
  
I continued stroking her hair. She’d always liked that. “That’s not true,” I said.  
  
“Yes it is.” Her voice was bitter, now. “I’m weak. I’m pathetic.”  
  
I sighed into her hair, then pulled back and tilted her head up so I could see her face. “What happened?”  
  
Emma bit her lip. Her eyes glanced around, seeking a distraction in my clothes and finding nothing, before finally darting back to meet mine. “Father,” she mumbled, fiddling with a loose bit of string on my shirt. “W-when we moved into the inner city, he… he’s more strict, now. I think it’s because of Lord Matthews. But he—“ Sniffling, she looked away and curled into my chest once more. “He said I had to stop seeing you.”  
  
She paused, breathing deeply against me. I traced slow, curly circles against her back, but made no move to speak. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing.  
  
Finally, she continued. “I tried to come anyway,” she said, voice wavering. “I really, really did, nearly a dozen times. But the servants, they caught me every time, and Father got angry with me. He… hit me. He’s never done that before. Then he locked me in my room, said I couldn’t leave until I did what he told me. Until I agreed to not see you. He said you… he said you were s-sullying me. Trying to turn me against him and the Empire. Trying to corrupt me. H-he said you weren’t human.”  
  
Emma looked up at me, clutching at my collar, her beautiful eyes wet and shimmering. I squeezed her tighter. “I c-couldn’t go against him. I’m too weak. He frightens me. And t-that day at the market, Lord Matthews was with us. He’s a purist, one of the Emperor’s dogs. When you came up to us and tried to talk to me, he got angry. I think he would have had you arrested or beaten or… But I remembered what Father said, so I… I used that.”  
  
She was actually crying now, tears making dirty tracks down her freckled cheeks. “I-I’m so, so sorry, Taylor. I just—I had to make you leave! Before you got hurt. I couldn’t—I couldn’t watch that. But I… I shouldn’t have said it anyway.”  
  
She fell silent, and I started rocking us back and forth slowly and softly, breathing into her hair.  
  
“It’s okay,” I said after a minute, pulling her closer. “You’re here now. We’re together. So everything’s okay.”  
  
Emma shifted. “He’s making me get married.”  
  
I froze. “What?”  
  
“Father,” she said. “He… he’s sold me. For the good of the family, he says. I’m betrothed to Lord Demoux, now; one of Lord Matthews’ coterie. He’s forty-three years old.” She gave a bitter laugh. “His firstborn is older than I am. And I h-heard his previous wife had an affair so—he had her executed.” Her body trembled in my arms. When she continued, her voice was brittle, almost inaudible. “The wedding is in six months, when I’m of age. I’m—They’re going to make me have his babies. Probably ten of them. Then I’ll be old and ugly and I’ll knock over a vase one day and I’ll be executed too and I-I-I’m never going to see you again.”  
  
I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, staring into her wide eyes. “That’s not true!” I said. “We promised, remember? We’d always be together. So—s-so you’re not marrying some Imperial twit, okay? We’re going to get you out of this. And we’ll figure it out together. We—we can talk to your father or—or—or _something_ , and then you’ll be okay, and we can—and we can be together again.” I paused, swallowing. “I won’t let this happen to you, okay? I promise. No matter what.”  
  
Emma stared at me in awe, her eyes shimmering once more. She opened her mouth to reply, but I stopped her with a kiss. I closed my eyes and brought a hand up to cup her cheek as she reciprocated, and together we slid down to the bed. My body pressed against hers as I lay atop her, our legs interlocking, my other hand reaching down to her hip.  
  
I pulled back for a moment’s breath, staring into her eyes. “I won’t let that happen,” I said, then dove forward to resume. She moaned into me as her hands fumbled at the strings of my shirt. I guided her fingers to the knots, which she ripped open while I loosened her own clothes. We were forced to break apart again when she pulled my top over my head, immediately discarding it and bringing her hands around to knead my breasts roughly.  
  
I growled, deep within my throat, then pulled her shirt off, too. “You’re mine,” I said, eliciting an adorable squeak from Emma. She smiled up at me, and then we were kissing once more, her arms winding around my neck as I worked at her bottoms. Soon enough, they were on the floor with our other clothes, and I slipped my bottoms off too. Our underwear followed quickly—she wore regular cotton, not those lacy silk ones she’d once gotten me as a gift. I was mildly disappointed.  
  
But then we were unclad, nothing stopping our bodies from touching. Her skin like a bonfire against mine, an inferno. Her smell, her sweat, almost enough to make me wet on its own. The sounds of her halting, gasping breaths, the little yelping noises of pleasure she made when I tweaked a nipple or bumped her nethers with my knee, accompanied by the wet smacks of our kisses, exciting us both in a million different ways.  
  
Her taste, just as I remembered. Exactly as I’d missed.  
  
“Nobody else’s,” I panted, pulling back and peppering her jaw with feather kisses. I slid a hand down to her nethers, slipping a finger inside and massaging the way I knew she liked. As I’d expected, she gasped, arching her back and using her arms around my neck to pull her body up and press it against mine, an exchange of sweat and heat. I grinned and kissed my way down her neck, receiving a hundred tiny shudders as I went. “Nobody can do this to you but me.”  
  
I paused to circle her nipple with my tongue, a teasing twist that made her whimper. I squeezed my own legs together, a futile attempt to alleviate the burning in my loins. I was almost desperate to have _her_ mouth on _my_ body, her fingers inside _me_. But I wasn’t done yet. I’d waited months for this to happen again; I could manage another few minutes.  
  
“You’re mine,” I repeated, punctuating the words with a squeeze of her breast and a nipping suck of her nipple. She yelped, and I glanced up at her. “Understand?”  
  
Emma pulled her hands away from her face and looked down at me, our eyes meeting. Her breathing came hard and heavy, my head rising and falling as her chest did the same. “I un—“ I popped a second finger inside her and stretched—but only once, before stopping. “ _Aaghhh_! Ohh, pleaseplease _please_!”  
  
I couldn’t stop from grinning as I bit her nipple again. She whimpered. “ _Understand_?”  
  
“Yes!” she said, bucking against me. “Yes yes yes, I understand!”  
  
I rewarded her with a few thrusts of my hand, making her writhe beneath me, her flesh jiggling. I moved down a bit, to her stomach, biting one of her folds hard enough to leave a mark, just beside her belly button. Harder than usual, but I was starved. Of course, she didn’t seem to mind. Not with the way she hissed and clenched her legs together around my arm, her hands curling in the bed sheets.  
  
“I’m the only one that gets to do this?” I prodded.  
  
She groaned, shaking in frustration as I trailed further down her body. “Yes! You’re the only one, now please—”  
  
I pulled my fingers out and replaced them with my mouth, spreading her wide with a single movement and burying my tongue in her sex. The taste dominated my senses, sending memories flashing into my mind. She was so sweet, yet so bitter. An appropriate taste.  
  
Juices gushed into my mouth as she thrashed beneath my grip, hissing and gasping and groaning before finally exploding over my face with a shriek, only half-muffled by the way she buried her face in the sheets. Her legs locked around my head and she arched her back, almost lifting me to my knees. I struggled to keep attached, to take in all that I could; I was a little out of practice, but I couldn’t bear the thought of wasting her. Any of her.  
  
Finally, she subsided, and we fell back down to the bed together. I caught myself, and crawled up her twitching, sweat-slicked body, licking a path clear and enjoying that taste, too. She giggled breathlessly when I reached her ribs—she’d always been ticklish there—and wrapped her arms around my neck, smiling dreamily up at me with lidded eyes. I caressed her cheek and leaned in for a kiss. She returned it with surprising vigour.  
  
We broke apart, with a whine from Emma. Unable to kiss me any longer, she turned and took my hand in hers, giving it her attentions instead. I dropped to the bed beside her, watching and smiling. She met my eyes, and we held the gaze for a long minute.  
  
“I love you,” I said, making her pause. “You know that, right? You—you’ll always have a place beside me. I—I mean, maybe I never said that as much as I should have, but… it’s true.”  
  
Emma swallowed, staring at me. “I love you, too, Taylor,” she said, voice soft. A moment later, she gave a devilish grin, popped my fingers in her mouth, and started suckling and running her tongue along the sides, making exaggerated moans all the while. I realised those were the fingers I’d had inside her and blushed, even as my other hand crept down between my own legs and felt at the wetness there.  
  
“But I haven’t done you yet,” Emma said in a husky tone, popping my fingers out of her mouth again and rolling on top of me.  
  
“Wai—“ I cut off with a high-pitched moan I couldn’t hold back as Emma ran down my body and planted her mouth on my own sex, keeping my legs spread wide. Her tongue did things to me I couldn’t quantify, each and every movement making me jerk and twitch and whine or squeal. I _loved_ it. And I needed it badly. I reached down to grab her head, pulling her further into me while bucking against her, gasping her name over and over and over.  
  
As far along as I already was, I didn’t need much of her ministrations before replicating her earlier orgasm. The difference was, she didn’t let up. Once the trembles subsided, she pulled back and slid her fingers in me, twisting and curling and thrusting in a way that seemed mad but was most definitely calculated. It was overwhelmingly glorious, despite—or perhaps because of—the almost-pain from my current sensitivity.  
  
I tried to pull away, but she held me in place. With another grin, she lifted my hips up and sat between my legs. Our nethers touched. Then she began grinding against me, our wetnesses mixing and coating each other’s groins, spreading heat between us, our nubs bumping and scraping in ways that left me thrashing against her even as I sat up and bucked in rhythm, adding my own weight to the grind.  
  
Wet, fleshy slaps and smacks and schlicks filled the air, twisting and dancing with our incessant moans and nonsense exclamations of pleasure. Our fingers dug rivers into each other’s skin as we held each other tight, seeking something I couldn’t explain. I reached orgasm first, but she wasn’t far behind, whimpering my name into my neck as my voice escaped me.  
  
Together we collapsed, her splayed out atop my body, sweat cooling on our empty skin. We took the time to regain our breath, running slow, careless hands across each other’s bodies. Emma sighed contently, snuggling into her usual spot against my side, laying her head against my neck. I prodded at her ribs and she giggled. Her hand sought out mine and intertwined our fingers. I smiled lazily. She’d always liked holding hands.  
  
Minutes passed in blissful quiet, the both of us simply enjoying each other in the purest sense. But it couldn’t last forever. The haze of sex lifted from my mind, and my fears and worries creeped back in. I squeezed Emma’s shoulder, more to comfort myself than her.  
  
“Run away with me.”  
  
She looked up at me. “What?”  
  
I swallowed my hesitation. “I’m serious,” I said. “Run away with me. We can barter for seats on a trader’s cart or steal a horse or just walk. It doesn’t matter, as long as we get away from this city.”  
  
Her eyes shimmered. “We can’t.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“A hundred reasons,” she said bitterly. “What about your father? Isn’t he still sick?”  
  
“He’s not—No,” I said, holding back the sadness. “He died a month ago.”  
  
“Oh.” Emma kissed my jaw gently. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Thank you.” I twirled a strand of her hair around my finger. “But he… I don’t have any reason to stay here anymore, Emma. No obligations, no nothing. We can throw all this shit away and leave, just the two of us.”  
  
Emma shook her head against me. “I want to, Taylor, I really, really do. But I can’t. What happens if I leave? What happens to my sisters? Father would make one of them marry Lord Demoux, instead of me. Or someone worse. What if he makes Vanessa do it? Or Anne? She never learned to control her temper. She’d get herself killed.” She curled into herself. She felt so small. But her voice did not waver when she said: “I can’t let that happen.”  
  
“You don’t think your father would marry them off anyway?” I said. “It’s just a matter of time. It doesn’t matter whether you’re there or not. You can’t stop him. You have to worry about yourself first.”  
  
She was quiet for a long time. I started to worry I’d seriously upset her. Then, “How?” she said, voice barely a whisper. “Where would we go? How would we survive? We’d need money. I can’t steal any from Father. I don’t want to go back there.”  
  
“You don’t have to. We can get work somewhere. I .”  
  
“Work? What could I do? All I have is my body.” She laughed, though it sounded like a sob. “Though I could always sell that.”  
  
“No! Never. And you’re wrong, Emma. You’re so much more than your body.” I propped myself up on my elbow, looking down at her. “We could go anywhere, do anything! It doesn’t matter, so long as we’re together. We could get work on a cargo ship and explore across the sea. You could scribe for the shipmaster, and I could scrub the decks. Or we could hitch a ride south. There’s farmland for miles down there. I’m sure one of those farms or towns could use a pair of helpers. We could milk cows together. Then maybe one day we could start a farm of our own. Take in a few orphans and sell potatoes at the market every winter.”  
  
She sniffled. “That sounds nice.”  
  
“I know. And there’s no reason we can’t have that. We just have to leave.”  
  
She squeezed my hand. I rubbed my thumb across her fingers and squeezed back. “What if we get caught?” she said. “Father would try to find me.”  
  
“The world’s a big place. He can’t mobilise the Imperial Guard to find us. And we can colour our hair and paint our skin, if we really need to. They won’t find us, and they’ll give up after a month anyway.”  
  
She went quiet again. I hugged her tight.  
  
“So?” I said, hoping against hope. “Will you do it? Will you run away with me?”  
  
She took a deep breath. “I—“  
  
Someone knocked on the door. “Miss Valerie?” a woman’s voice whispered. The swordswoman. Emma sat up. “We have company.”


	2. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Preface:** A different sort of Taylor/Amy. Moderate AU in that Golden Morning happened in 2006, went quite differently, and Taylor and Amy never triggered. This is July 2015, after Taylor's birthday but before Amy's, so they're both 20. There's a bunch of elements here that didn't all come together that well. But it was a fun experiment, if not an overly successful one. It may have been affected by the... somewhat barebones narration and characterisation, which I guess is what happens when I try to do something like this in a day (even if it took two in the end and I totally forgot to post it again). (5,105 words)
> 
>  **Pairing(s):** Taylor/Amy.

Dr. Sen and I burst into the hallway, keeping pace with the orderlies pushing the hospital bed. I removed what little remained of the PRT trooper’s helmet and armour, exposing his wounds and lumping the remnants at the foot of the bed. Dr. Sen snapped instructions at another nurse to prep the OR and turned to question the other PRT trooper opposite the bed while she looked over our patient. “What happened?”  
  
“He took the brunt of the explosion,” the other trooper was explaining. “We launched a raid on the Boston Boys, but I think they were expecting us or something and—”  
  
“Amy!” Dr. Sen said, cutting the trooper off and looking at me. “I count two gunshot wounds. Stomach and thigh.” I nodded and moved to inspect the injuries—thigh first, in case the bullet had nicked an artery—and Dr. Sen turned back to the trooper woman. “What explosion? Was there debris?”  
  
It took the woman a moment to realise Dr. Sen was talking to her. “They blew up the wall.”  
  
“Was there debris?”  
  
“Oh, uh, yes, sorry,” the trooper woman said. “The wall was made of concrete, and he got showered in it. Maybe some rebar and glass, too. He was right next to the wall when it went up.”  
  
Dr. Sen nodded as we turned into an operating room. She stopped before we entered and pulled the trooper woman aside. The orderlies took care of transferring the injured man to the table, and I began intubation while another pair of nurses stripped him, started cleaning his wounds, and connected him to the medical monitor.  
  
“Any other injuries?” Dr. Sen asked, going through the hygiene preparation. “Did he engage with any parahumans?”  
  
The trooper shook her head. “They blew the wall the minute the operation started, and Gordon spent the whole thing on the ground. If he was hit by anything else, I didn’t see it.”  
  
“Thank you.” The doctor slipped on a surgery mask and pointed to a chair. “You can wait there,” she said, then joined the rest of us in the OR. But the trooper didn’t sit. Instead, she stood by the window and watched.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Gordon Manning went into cardiac arrest halfway through surgery. The hospital’s attempts to resuscitate failed, and Dr. Sen declared the patient dead at 6:03 P.M.  
  
The duty of informing his family would be left to the PRT.  
  
_And thank god for that_ , I thought, peeling off my blood-stained gloves. I glanced over at Manning’s colleague, currently being told the news by Dr. Sen. I didn’t think that was really necessary, given that the woman had seen everything that happened in the OR through the window, but I suppose tradition carried a strong weight. I wondered idly if the trooper would have to pass along the news herself. _I don’t envy your job, lady_.  
  
The trooper nodded at something Dr. Sen said, and the doctor patted her armoured shoulder, then left. Slowly, the trooper sank into the chair by the wall—the first time she’d sat since I’d seen her. She didn’t move as the other nurses and I cleaned ourselves up, and she didn’t make a sound when an orderly came to move Manning’s body. It was only after we had all left the room that I, the last person out, heard the woman cry.  
  
—————————————————  
  
The last two hours of my evening shift were not quite so exciting. I hooked a sleeping stabbing victim up to an IV and ran a few errands for the doctors, then spent the rest of my time fluffing pillows and making sure people were comfortable. Busywork, yes, but enough to keep my mind from drifting to unsavoury places.  
  
The clock on the wall ding-dong’d at eight o’clock, and I wasted no time making my way to the changing rooms, waving to Sam and Joe—just starting their own evening shifts—as I passed. Then, with my scrubs thrown in the wash basket and my regular clothes once again adorning my body, I left.  
  
The parking lot was foggy and cold, filled mostly with tents instead of cars, and most of the cars that _were_ there were being used as shelter; Brockton Bay’s population—though it wasn’t really a bay anymore—had exceeded its housing capacity for years now, and working cars were expensive: more of a luxury than the necessities they once had been.  
  
Golden Morning had hit all industries hard, but oil was ultimately less necessary and more difficult to produce than many other things, so the effort had not yet been put forward. What little fuel people had was either imported from off-world—and therefore, expensive enough that only bigger groups, like the union that ran my hospital, could afford it in any useful quantity—or made by parahumans—and therefore, probably belonging to one of the gangs.  
  
I nodded at a few of the refugees gathered around a giant pot on a fire, filled with bubbling soup. They raised inquisitive eyebrows and gestured, inviting me to join, but I continued past them and onto the street, where my feet weaved a path around the shattered and broken areas without any conscious thought on my part. I’d walked this road a thousand times.  
  
I pulled a cigarette from my pouch and lit it with a match, taking a long drag and releasing the smoke into the air with a dry chuckle. It said a lot about humanity that vices like cigarettes had been one of the first things the people of Bet had clamoured to resurrect. And alcohol, of course. Breweries and distilleries had been intensely profitable in those first few years. But then, that didn’t really surprise me. Everyone needed their vices. I certainly did.  
  
“Amy!” someone called.  
  
I stopped and turned to see Emily Guzman hurrying down the street. I sighed. _This again_. “What?”  
  
Emily stopped in front of me and laughed in between her panting breaths. “Are—shit, I should really start exercising more. You’re goin’ to the Tap, right?”  
  
“Yes,” I said, turning and starting down the street again.  
  
Emily followed. “I thought so,” she said. “You always do.” Then she grinned and slid an arm around my shoulders, leaning in close to murmur in my ear. I felt her breasts press against my arm and tried to ignore them. “So is this the night you finally give in to my seductions? Let me take you home?”  
  
I pushed her arm away. “No. I told you last time: I don’t date coworkers.”  
  
“Yeah, but I’m not talking about _dating_. I’m talking about _sex_.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. The answer’s still no.”  
  
Emily groaned dramatically, leaning her head back. “Playing hard-to-get is only hot to a certain point, y’know. My patience is not everlasting.”  
  
“Still no.”  
  
“Oh, hold on,” Emily said, grinning again. “I see, I see. You’re worried I’ll ruin you for other girls, hmm? I can go easy with you, if you want.”  
  
“Never gonna happen, Emily.”  
  
“Aw, c’mon Ames, there’s nothing—”  
  
I stopped and snapped around to face her. “Don’t call me that!”  
  
Emily jumped. “Whu—what?”  
  
“You called me Ames,” I said, glaring. “Don’t.”  
  
“Uh… okay,” Emily said, looking down at her feet. She shifted. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, I just… Sorry.”  
  
“I don’t care. Just don’t call me that again.” I turned and continued walking down the street. But my anger cooled as quickly as it had came, and I looked back to see Emily shuffling uneasily beneath the cold light of the street-lamps. _Don’t be a bitch, Ames. Throw a girl a bone_. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Emily!”  
  
She looked up.  
  
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” I said.  
  
She smiled. “See you on Thursday!” she agreed, then waved at me and ran off into the night.  
  
I continued down the street.  
  
—————————————————  
  
The Tap was a reasonably large bar, about two blocks from the hospital and a ten minute walk from my apartment. It was also just across from the market square, so most days it saw little to no gang activity and lots of regular folk coming and going: travellers moving through town and stopping for a night of warmth and companionship; trading caravans popping in to pawn off their best liquors and steaks; and of course, the constant stream of refugees as other settlements collapsed, caught in the constant warmongering that Bet’s warlords seemed to obsess over.  
  
I liked it, and I don’t like many things. It was quaint. Part of that may have been the endless flow of newcomers also making one-night-stands a _little_ easier. But still, most nights I slept alone, so I had to like the place for more than the prospects.  
  
I took a seat at the bar. Ken brought me my usual order, and I sipped it while I scanned the crowd. I dismissed the regulars, laughing and carousing at their tables, and searched for women I didn’t recognise. The pickings weren’t amazing tonight. A busty girl with pink and blue-dyed hair played darts with a lanky man by the bathrooms—maybe a couple, maybe not. It didn’t matter: I wasn’t going to insert myself to find out, no matter how hot she was.  
  
An equally well-endowed blonde sat at a table, almost perfect. I longed to go and speak to her, to ask her name and hear her voice and invite her to share my bed. But she was smiling demurely and talking quietly with a young man who had his hand on her knee, and I knew I couldn’t have her.  
  
Ken brought me a second glass, and a third, before I settled on a brunette seated at the bar; alone, like me. Not blonde, and not my usual type, but she’d be pretty enough in the right light. I walked over to her and leaned against the bar. “Excuse me,” I said. She looked at me and I smiled. “Can I buy you a drink?”  
  
She stared at me for a long few seconds. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying recently. It probably says bad things about me that that made me _more_ attracted to her. “Are you hitting on me?”  
  
“Yes,” I said.  
  
She blinked in obvious disbelief, then laughed, and I felt my smile widen. “Okay,” she said. “Sure, why not. First time for everything, right?” She held up a glass filled with something dark and swished it around. “Though I’m not done with this one yet.”  
  
I sat on the stool beside her. “Then I’ll buy the next one,” I said, and held out a hand. “I’m Amy.”  
  
She shook my hand, still smiling. “Taylor. It’s a pleasure.”  
  
“Likewise. So…” I raised an eyebrow at her. “First time for everything?”  
  
She gave me a sidelong glance and grinned. “Yeah. I’ve never been picked up at a bar before.”  
  
I grinned back. “Then I’ll try to set a good baseline.”  
  
Taylor chuckled and sipped at her drink, looking at me curiously. “You were one of the nurses, weren’t you?”  
  
I froze. “What?”  
  
“At the hospital. You were one of the nurses that tried to save Gordon. I thought I’d seen you before.” She looked down at her glass and twisted it in her hands. “Thank you.”  
  
“Uh… don’t thank me,” I said, casting my memory back. “I was just doing my job. You… you’re the other trooper?”  
  
Taylor nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
I quieted, feeling uncomfortable. “Sorry for your loss,” I said. Then I sat in silence for a moment, shifting in my seat. “Um. I—sorry, I shouldn’t be trying to pick you up right now. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you—”  
  
“No,” Taylor said, grabbing my hand as I stood to leave. She met my eyes. “If I wanted you to leave, I would’ve told you so. Besides—” She held up her drink, still half full. “—you said you’d buy me my next drink, and I’m still not done this one.”  
  
I looked at her, then sat down again. She didn’t let go of my hand until I glanced down at it—though if she hadn’t released me, I wouldn’t have minded. I wasn’t sure what else to say. The doctors usually dealt with the patients’ families and loved ones, not me; I was just a nurse, and I wasn’t even professionally trained like some of the others were.  
  
“I didn’t know him very well,” Taylor said, looking down at her glass again. “Gordon, I mean. I’m—I’m pretty new. I only signed up a few months ago, finished training in May. Gordon had to teach our class on gun safety, ‘cos the regular guy was sick. He wasn’t a great teacher. Bit of an asshole, really. But today…” She looked at me. “Did you hear what happened today? I think you were there when I told the doctor.”  
  
“Um… the Boston Boys, wasn’t it?”  
  
Taylor nodded. “They robbed a shipment from Soleica three days ago, just outside town. Medical supplies, I think. Like, needles and painkillers and stuff. It’s not a very exciting story. My CO tells me we got a tip from a reputable source about where they were keeping the loot, but that they apparently had the back door rigged to explode when it was opened. Gordon swapped places with me before we started, ‘cos it was only my second mission and he said the rookies ought to be at the rear.”  
  
She looked away. “We didn’t even get the shit back.”  
  
She lapsed into silence, and I didn’t say anything to break it. All that came to mind was ‘sorry for your loss,’ but I’d already said that. Besides, it was nothing but a platitude. And I hated platitudes. So I stayed quiet.  
  
Taylor lifted her drink and downed the rest of it in one motion, leaving only ice. She planted the glass on the bar and wiped her mouth with one hand, then looked at me. “Now. We can order me a new drink and talk about something a little less depressing, _or_ …” She leaned forward and laid a hand on mine. “We can find somewhere more private and skip the small stuff.” She smiled. “It’s up to you.”  
  
I narrowed my eyes and fought off a smile of my own. “Is that some sort of test?” I asked jokingly. “Trying to see if I’m interested in you or your body?”  
  
“I don’t think you’re particularly interested in either,” Taylor said. “But I don’t mind. I could do with some stress relief, and I think maybe you could too.”  
  
I quieted again, appraising her and hoping I was adequately concealing my surprise. She’d read me like a book. “What if I pick the wrong answer?”  
  
Taylor chuckled, spinning her empty glass in her fingers. “There is no wrong answer, Amy.”  
  
“Oh?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “And what if I said I wanted to sit here and talk? Would that take sex off the table?”  
  
“Of course not,” she laughed. “They’re not mutually exclusive. The order doesn’t matter as much as people would like it to. And if I get my way, we’ll do both.”  
  
I pursed my lips, thinking about what she’d said. I glanced down at her hand on mine and ran a thumb along her fingers. It almost felt like _she_ was picking _me_ up. That was unusual.  
  
My eyes moved up her arms. There was more muscle there than I’d expected. She probably _could_ pick me up, physically speaking. That could be fun.  
  
Taylor trapped my thumb with hers and smiled at me. “So? Which are we gonna do first?”  
  
—————————————————  
  
I unlocked the door to my apartment and led Taylor inside. Leaving my shoes by the entrance, I walked to the kitchenette, which was maybe a half-dozen strides from the door. My apartment wasn’t very big.  
  
“Welcome to my humble abode,” I said, spreading my arms and gesturing about me. I grabbed a pair of cups from the cupboard and put them on my tiny, tiny, kitchen counter. “It’s not much, I know, but nurses didn’t make great money even _before_ Golden Morning. I can’t afford much more than this.”  
  
I retrieved some wine from the fridge and poured us a cup each, then carried them over to my fold-out dining table where Taylor had taken a seat. She looked around, counting the doors under her breath. “Two bedrooms?” she said when I sat beside her. “Do you have a roommate?”  
  
I glanced at the pink-and-purple-painted door behind her, set a few feet from the door to _my_ bedroom. “No,” I said. “Just me.”  
  
“Maybe you should get one,” Taylor said, sipping her wine. “Someone to help out with the rent. I have two roommates, myself.”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Taylor glanced at me. “Which room’s yours?”  
  
I stood and walked over to the other bedroom door, painted red and white. Taylor deposited her knife and gun on the table and followed. Both bedrooms were the same size, and my double bed took up most of the space here, leaving only enough room for a bedside cabinet, a closet—though only one door could open all the way—and a messy pile of books in one corner.  
  
We sat on the edge of my bed, putting our cups on the floor by the door. “I like it,” Taylor said, lying back to rest on her elbows. “Your place, I mean. It feels lived in.”  
  
I leaned back a bit, too, quirking an eyebrow at her. “I’m not sure ‘lived in’ is really a compliment.”  
  
She laughed and dropped fully onto the bed, closing her eyes and sighing at the softness. “Well, I mean it like one,” she said. The old analog clock on the wall outside my door tick-tock’d softly in the silence that followed. Then Taylor opened her eyes and smiled at me. “So are you going to kiss me, or am I gonna have to do it?”  
  
That made me giggle—I haven’t done that in years. We locked eyes as I leaned forward, planting my hands on either side of her to support myself. “I was waiting for you to ask for it,” I said. Then I kissed her.  
  
We started slow, gentle: lips joining, tongues probing, testing and tasting, then repositioning for a new angle. I liked to start that way, to get a sense for how my partner kissed. We didn’t speak, but Taylor seemed to enjoy it, if there was any indication in the way her hands ran along my sides, riding my clothes up my belly; or the way her legs rubbed and entwined in mine, feet and toes curling and locking my hips against hers; or the way she moaned playfully and angled her head to meet me more firmly.  
  
Taylor’s hands wrapped around my neck, fingers catching strands of my hair between them. It hurt a little. But pain was good, in small doses: it made me feel awake. Though I did have to shift onto my knees to stop her from pulling me down.  
  
I took advantage of my new position to run my hands up her belly. She gave a short giggle at the way my fingers brushed her skin. Her flesh was warm and soft, but firmer than what I was used to, her stomach more muscle than flab. I pushed her shirt up and fumbled at her bra, then pulled back to see. Her breasts were small, but not the smallest I’ve held. I squeezed them gently, rolling the flesh between my fingers, teasing her hardened nipples. This time, Taylor’s answering moan was more sexy than playful. I liked it.  
  
She pulled my head down again and kissed her way down my jaw, suckling in a way that made my breath catch and my body shiver. She unwrapped one arm from my neck and pulled at my shirt, and I wiggled a bit to help her along. She threw my top to the side and sat up, pushing me back so I was on her lap. Then she removed my bra and starting playing with _my_ breasts the same way I was playing with hers.  
  
My breath was starting to come quicker, and I heard hers accelerate too, felt it through my hands on her chest and her mouth on my neck. I arched into her, she arched into me. I bit her ear and pinched her nipples, making her jump. She growled, a low and lustful sound from deep in her throat, and then I felt her smile through her kisses as she returned the favour, making _me_ jump and giggle again.  
  
I felt a moment of sadness when Taylor pulled my hands away from her chest, but it was gone the moment her strong arms encircled my back, pulling me tight and close against her. Then she pushed me over, following me down until I was on my back and she was on top of me, the reverse of how we’d started.  
  
Her nipples pressed against my body and trailed along as she slid downwards, slow and methodical, stopping every second to kiss and suckle pleasingly at my skin. I pulled her top off her completely as she went, then moved my hands to her breasts again, squeezing and pinching harder than before. She twitched as I caught her nipples between my nails, then she growled again and tightened her embrace, lifting my belly up. Then set her mouth to my tit and suckled, her tongue and teeth working in tandem to toy with my nipple.  
  
I groaned and writhed beneath her, our legs intertwining until I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began. Taylor’s hands slid down my back, slipping beneath the waist of my jeans and squeezing my butt. My toes curled, and I found my hands clutching her shoulders, my nails digging into her skin.  
  
She pulled her hands out and unzipped my pants. She yanked them off without moving her mouth from my breast, then threw hers aside too. I heard our wine cups spill, but paid it no mind, wiggling my hips as her hands trailed up my legs, leaving tingling gooseflesh in their wake.  
  
I pulled her head away from my chest. I missed it immediately—she was awfully good at using her teeth there—but I wanted to kiss her more, so kiss her I did. Our tongues met and curled around each other, and we moaned into each other’s mouths. And then her hands were at my hips, her fingers picking at the edges of my lace panties. I shuddered in anticipation, feeling the heat and desire in my core compound, my pussy growing wetter almost in exponents.  
  
Taylor peeled my panties away slowly, _painfully_ so. She trailed them down my legs, her feather-light touches making me shiver again and again. After what seemed like an eternity, she abandoned my underwear, halfway down my thighs, before returning to where she knew I wanted her. Her fingers played about the outskirts of my pussy. But she refrained from actually touching me.  
  
I groaned and shuddered again, then made my displeasure clear by biting her lip _hard_. She sucked air in through her teeth in pain, and I released her. She panted against my mouth for a moment, then dove forward to resume kissing me, and finally gave me what I wanted, slipping her fingers into my quivering pussy. I lost my voice, and with it my breath.  
  
Most girls I brought home weren’t great at taking the lead, but in that moment I wished more of them were—it felt so good, so wonderful, to let her control me like this, to give myself over to another woman. So I left myself to her ministrations, let her ravage my body however she wished. My arms and legs trembled as her fingers drove deeper and deeper within me, the air around us filled with nothing but the sounds and smells of sex.  
  
Her fingers made a mockery of my mind, bereaving me of my ability to think, and I loved it. Our kisses became stilted, our need for oxygen forcing us to break apart every other second for gasping breaths. I found my hands scrambling madly at her panties, almost tearing them in my fight to get them off her hips. Then they were gone, and I did what I could to return the favour, slipping my own fingers into her equally wet pussy. She gasped into my mouth then doubled down on my pussy, making me gasp back.  
  
She fucked me like a master. I fucked her like a rookie, unable to focus all my efforts on her. But she didn’t seem to mind. Our bodies pressed together tightly, the both of us slick with sweat. Our nipples touched and bumped, and our knees banged together as we bucked and ground against each others’ hands. We gasped and groaned and mewled together. My fingers spread her pussy as my thumb teased her clit and my other hand squeezed her ass hard—all while she did the same exact things to me.  
  
Then she kissed me again and I came, whining and wailing into her mouth as my pussy gushed and squirted my innermost juices onto her hand—and our legs, pressed together as close as we were. I trembled from head to toe, my vision glazing over and my back arching up as if I could somehow squeeze our bodies even closer, though I couldn’t, with her on top of me.  
  
The haze cleared. Taylor dropped her head to my neck. I could feel her breathing as hard as I was, and I belatedly realised she was also trembling a little. I pulled my fingers from her pussy and brought them up to my face for inspection. My palm was coated in glimmering wetness, down to my wrist. She’d come too, despite my attentions being somewhat… lacking. She must be sensitive. Or out of practice.  
  
I glanced down at her. She smiled, then noticed my hand. An idea occurred to me as I returned the smile. I popped my fingers into my mouth, sucking her juices from my skin and enjoying the taste, not taking my eyes from hers. I made an effort to be as noisy as possible. She watched silently for a minute, then she pulled _her_ fingers out of _my_ pussy—a feeling that made me twitch, as sensitive as I still was—and raised them to _her_ mouth, where she began licking my excretions from between her fingers slowly, sensually.  
  
It was sexy. And it made me horny again.  
  
I finished licking my hand clean, then reached down and pulled my panties all the way off, throwing them off the bed. I pushed Taylor over so that she lay on her back, then rolled on top of her. “Oh?” she said, raising an eyebrow at me.  
  
In lieu of answering, I kissed my way down her body, hooking my hands around her thighs and raising her butt up, leaving her twitching, cum-soaked pussy spread before me, easily accessible.  
  
Taylor laughed softly. “You’re insatiable.”  
  
I grinned.  
  
—————————————————  
  
I woke up in the middle of the night. A girl lay beside me in my bed, snoring softly, her naked body pressed against mine. She was warm. It took me a minute to remember her name. I ran a hand down her side, stopping on her hip. She shifted a little closer to me and mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep.  
  
Her splayed-out hair tickled my skin. It looked almost gold in the dim light that seeped from beneath my door.  
  
I closed my eyes and took slow, deep breaths. I lay there in the darkness for a long, long while. But I couldn’t get back to sleep.  
  
I sighed and extracted my arm from beneath Taylor’s body, then crawled off the bed as quietly and gently as I could. She didn’t wake up. I eased open my closet and dressed myself in some plain clothes and underwear—not my lace ones; I only had so many of those, and I wasn’t going to seduce anyone now—then I left the room, closing the door behind me.  
  
I glanced at the clock on the wall. Four in the morning. I yawned and made my way to the dining table, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen from a cabinet by the wall as I went, then scribbled out a short note addressed to Taylor, apologising for leaving before she woke up and asking her to lock the front door when she went home. I placed my spare key on top of the note for her.  
  
Then I slipped my shoes on and left.  
  
I wasn’t worried about her stealing anything. She was a PRT officer, and the most valuable thing in my apartment—at least to a thief’s mind—was the fridge.  
  
My feet carried my through the ruined streets. I saw a group of men drinking together by the mouth of an alley. But I gave them a wide berth, and they didn’t bother me. I made my way through the parking lot again, past the tents filled with sleeping refugees, and entered the hospital.  
  
It was quiet, this early. At this time of day, most of the gangbangers were still asleep, as were their would-be victims, so there wasn’t much activity. A woman argued with one of the attendees behind the front desk. She looked like a drug addict. Her cheeks were gaunt and her body was thin to the point of malnutrition, and her arms were dotted with puncture marks.  
  
I ignored her and walked around the front desk, passing a teenager sat in the waiting room rubbing an old man’s back as he coughed into his fist. I went into the nurses’ call room and knocked on the doorframe.  
  
Sam was there; he looked up. “Amy?” he said, scratching at his beard. “It’s only Wednesday, hun. Your shift’s _tomorrow_.”  
  
“I know,” I said. “I’m just here to visit.”  
  
“Ah.” He nodded. “Well, don’t let me keep you, then.”  
  
I thanked him and made my way to the second floor, to the coma ward. The room wasn’t as full as you’d expect—most folk couldn’t afford to pay to keep people on the plug. Hell, I could barely afford it myself, even with the _two_ discounts the Administrator gave me. But…  
  
I pushed past one of the privacy partitions and sat on Victoria’s bed.  
  
…I just couldn’t bring myself to shut her off.


	3. Fantasy Worm - Taylor & Lisa (vignette)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Preface:** Another snippet for Fantasy Worm. For a little context: this takes place almost a year after the first snip. Taylor got separated from Emma just after the first snip, and in the time between then and now she's gotten involved with a resistance movement in the hopes of rescuing Emma. And some other stuff happened. Lisa is also involved in the resistance, as she was once a priestess for the goddess Marama (hence the tattoos) before she was made a slave, and opposes the Empire's ideologies. They've known each other for a while. (2,479 words)
> 
>  **Contains:** lesbians. not much context. 
> 
> **Pairing(s):** Taylor/Lisa.

I hurried down the street and ducked into an alley, the sounds of my pursuers now quiet in the distance. Halfway down the alley was a man, leaning against a door and smoking a wrap of bluegrass. He straightened as I approached.  
  
I didn’t recognise him, but evidently he recognised me. He cast a glance in the direction of the guards’ shouts, where dark smoke rose into the night sky. Then, satisfied no soldiers were likely to round the corner in the next three seconds, he opened the door to the tavern behind him and ushered me in.  
  
I moved from the entrance to the pantry, careful to keep away from any doorways leading to the tavern proper—I couldn’t risk being spotted by one of the patrons. Once in the pantry, I pushed the crate of limes to the side and opened the hatch to our hideout. Then I slid down the ladder, locking the hatch behind me. The tavern workers would move the crate back and cover for me if the guard turned up asking questions; support for the resistance ran deep throughout the empire.  
  
Once I was down, I dropped to the ground with a sigh, letting my head fall back against the wooden rungs of the ladder. I lay there for a few minutes. I was tired. Not just in the physical sense. I was tired of _this_ , of making midnight raids on imperial storehouses and hiding in tunnels and hovels underground by day. There were things I needed to do. Important things. But instead of doing those, I was stuck here, harassing imperial supply lines. It was frustrating.  
  
I sighed again, then stood. I told myself that yes, I might be stuck here, but soon enough the resistance army would break open Brockton’s walls, and then I could go and do something I cared about. Soon.  
  
The enhancements to my vision made navigating the darkness of the entry passage easier. I walked over to the far wall and slid open the partition to the hideout itself, and made my way to my room—which I shared with Lisa, as there were only three rooms in total, and not much space to spare down here. I pushed aside the flap and entered… then I stopped dead in place.  
  
Lisa sat on a sheet in the center of our room, her legs crossed beneath her, hands folded in her lap in meditation. And she was naked from head to toe, a sheen of sweat covering her body, the dim light of her lantern almost seeming to make her tattoos glow green. I’d known she had tattoos, but I hadn’t realised she had so _many_ of them. I stared as her chest heaved, unable to help myself. Then her eyes opened, and she looked at me.  
  
I turned around hurriedly. “Sorry,” I said, trying and failing to put the image of her out of my mind. “I, uh… I didn’t mean to interrupt.”  
  
Lisa didn’t reply. I almost wondered if I’d upset her. Then: “Why did you turn away?” she said softly. Her voice made me shiver.  
  
I swallowed. It took me a moment to find my voice. “I just… felt like I should.”  
  
I heard her laugh, and it made me shiver again. “There’s no need, Taylor,” she said. “Turn around.”  
  
Hesitantly, I did as she asked. She was still naked, still seated there with her breasts open to the world. To me. I wanted to look, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I remained facing her but averted my eyes, fixing my gaze on an imperfection in the wooden wall behind her.  
  
“You’re doing it again.” I saw her head tilt out of the corner of my eye. “It’s alright, Taylor. I don’t mind. You don’t have to look away.”  
  
“Yes I do,” I said.  
  
“Why?”  
  
I didn’t answer.  
  
Lisa stood and walked over to me. I swallowed and tried to ignore the way her hips swayed. She stopped in front of me, then reached out and grabbed my head with her hands. She turned my head so I faced her directly. I locked my eyes on hers and tried to pretend she wasn’t naked.  
  
“Are you attracted to me?” she said.  
  
I twitched. “Why even bother asking?” I said. “I’m sure your goddess could tell you.”  
  
Lisa smiled. “Maybe. But I’d rather hear it from you.”  
  
I closed my eyes and breathed deep breaths. Her hands were warm against my jaw, her skin soft. I swallowed the knot in my throat again, then nodded hesitantly. “Yes.”  
  
“I thought so.” I shivered again as her thumb brushed my cheek. “Yet you refuse to look at me.”  
  
“You’re naked,” I said, raising a hand to grab hers and hold it still. “I can’t… It wouldn’t be right for me to look.”  
  
“Why not?” she said. “You have my permission. I don’t mind.”  
  
“It’s…” I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
I held my tongue, but it was hard to resist her. She had a way of being commanding, and I was not good at saying no. “There’s someone else,” I admitted, opening my eyes and looking away from her once more. “In Brockton. A girl. Someone I love.”  
  
Lisa was quiet for a moment. “And you think that indulging in your desires would be a betrayal.”  
  
It wasn’t a question. I answered anyway. “Yes.”  
  
She chuckled and ran her thumb across my cheek again. “Oh, Taylor,” she said. “You’re wrong.” I bristled. She turned my head so I faced her once more, then smiled. “For my training, I studied history and theology. A thousand years ago, long before the Empire, long before even the Cuirans and the Qwynfolk, the gods Edelis and Atia visited the earth, so that they could speak to their people directly. Are you familiar with the tale?”  
  
I nodded.  
  
“I thought you would be. You will know, then, that they spoke of many things. They taught our ancestors how to coexist with the animals and the plants their lord had bestowed upon us. They taught us how to fashion tools from stone and wood, and how we could harness the power of the elements to keep our kinsfolk safe and warm, and many other things.  
  
“You may also know that they returned a hundred years later. Having seen how our ancestors condemned one another based on the sex of their chosen partners, they visited the earth once again and told us that sexuality was a mortal conceit, that we were not made to pick and choose. That a man lying with another man, or a woman lying with another woman, is as natural and holy a thing as could ever be.”  
  
“I know the story, Lisa, I just—”  
  
She pressed a finger to my lips. “But you may not know that that is not all they spoke of, when they returned. They also said that monogamy was another mortal falsehood. And these are all things that the Empire has misconstrued for its own gain. Here, a man may take as many wives as he wishes, as things should be. But under the Emperor’s rule, a woman may only take one partner, perhaps not even the one she desires. And _that_ is wrong.  
  
“Sex is a part of us, Taylor. One of the many fibres that form our very beings. A symbol of intimacy and love. To deny that is to deny your very self.” She stepped closer, then took hold of my hands, bringing them down and placing them on her hips. I swallowed and restrained myself from pulling her closer. One of her hands landed on my shoulder, while the other came up to caress my cheek. Our eyes met. “There is nothing wrong about attraction, Taylor. Just as there is nothing wrong with acting on it, so long as both parties are willing.”  
  
I stared at her, moving as little as I could manage. I wet my lips. “You make it sound like _you’re_ willing.”  
  
Lisa smiled. She had a very nice smile. She stepped closer, pressing her body against mine. “I am.”  
  
Then she leaned in and kissed me. It was… nice. More than nice. I felt her breasts press against my chest as we tasted each other. I gripped her waist, pulling her forward so her hips were flush against mine, and she giggled into my mouth and kissed me deeper.  
  
Then our lips broke apart. Our heads bumped together, my nose scarcely an inch from hers, though I was taller. We were both breathing harder than we had been before. I felt her exhalations against my collarbone. She smelled wonderful; a stark contrast to the stuffiness of the room around us.  
  
I swallowed the lingering taste of her kiss. I wanted to kiss her again. “I… Emma’s waiting for me to come for her,” I said, breathless. “I—I know she is.”  
  
“And this won’t change that, Taylor,” Lisa said, her voice soft and kind. “She’ll still be there when the time comes.” She kissed my jaw; I turned my mouth towards hers by reflex. “She won’t love you any less for what we do together when we’re alone. And you won’t love her any less for it either.” She kissed my jaw again, then leaned back in my arms, looking me in the eyes and caressing my cheek once more. “Loving one person does not mean you have to stop loving another. It’s okay.”  
  
I ran my finger along her hip, staring into her eyes. “You’re right,” I said, then I leaned forward, tilting my head for another kiss. Lisa did the same. Our lips met, and it felt right. I cupped her butt and picked her up, eliciting a squeak of surprise. Then I carried her over to our bedding and lowered her gently to the padded bed. Her legs circled my back, pulling me closer to her, and our kiss deepened.  
  
I let go of her and pulled my clothes off. I wanted—I _needed_ to feel her skin against mine, directly. To feel her warmth without any barrier. So I did. I threw my clothes to the side and pressed my body against hers, our hips and nipples meeting. Lisa moaned into our kiss. We lay there for some time, kissing and moaning, our legs rubbing against each other, our hands caressing each other’s arms and sides and necks and legs, enjoying each other’s bodies.  
  
Then I pulled away from her. She whined cutely, and I gave her another kiss before moving down her body. Her skin was pale and soft, freckles spattering her collarbone like they spattered her cheeks. Her nipples were a perfect pink, poking up from her breasts, erect and tantalising. I placed my mouth over one and licked; Lisa moaned and raked her fingers up my back. Her skin was salty with sweat. I liked her taste.  
  
While I played with her nipple, I ran a finger along one of her tattoos: a serpent, inked in abstract lines of emerald green, that curved around her breast. It ran from her ribs to her collarbone, twisting and winding every which way as it went and ending at a similarly abstract depiction of a four-pronged leaf, blowing in the wind. The designs were mesmerising. I pulled back for a better view.  
  
Her whole body was tattooed like that, every inking a different image, a different symbol, a different meaning. Like a book of history and theology, perhaps even an account of her life and her knowledge, written on her skin in some language I could not read. All painted the purest green, the same shade as her eyes. The colour went well with her complexion.  
  
“They’re beautiful,” I said, running my fingers along an image on her midriff that looked almost like a group of spirits crowding around a child—or perhaps a pack of wolves.  
  
“Thank you,” Lisa said. I could hear the pleasure in her voice. “Most people find them beautiful. When I was a slave, the man who owned me thought so too. He paid a thousand silvers for me, and made me dance for his guests.”  
  
I looked up at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”  
  
“No,” she said, cupping my face in her hands and smiling. “I am proud of them. They are proof of my service to Marama. And they saved me from rape. After all, he could not risk his best dancer being injured.” Her smile turned sickly. “The others were not so lucky.”  
  
I crawled up her body and kissed her again, slow and passionate. Lisa moaned her appreciation and shifted beneath me. “We won’t let anything like that happen again,” I said.  
  
Lisa’s smile softened, becoming gentle once again. “No. We won’t.”  
  
She returned my kiss and rolled us onto our sides. I felt her hand sliding down my belly, tickling my skin. Then her hand was at my sex, and her fingers were entering me and playing with my wetness. I twitched and moaned automatically, and I felt Lisa grin around our kiss.  
  
I sent my hand down to her sex too, curling my fingers inside her and getting the same moans from her that she was getting from me. She was tight and warm and wet around me. Our tongues entwined as we deepened our kiss, our fingers continuing to explore each other’s insides in the most intimate manner possible, moans of pleasure escaping from our connection.  
  
But soon enough, we were forced to stop kissing—our gasping, panting breaths were too short to sustain our bodies for an extended kiss. Her fingers made it difficult to focus. So we lay there, staring into each other’s eyes and panting each other’s names as we fingered each other to the brink of climax.  
  
Then with some unspoken communication, we kissed, and we both went over the edge. Her insides quivered around my fingers, her body trembling against mine as she cried into our kiss—and I knew my body was doing the same, though my wits had long since abandoned me.  
  
Minutes later, we lay panting in each other’s arms, a sheen of sweat coating our bodies. I felt a sudden rush of guilt, but I ignored it. Lisa was right. I’d needed that release, and Emma hadn’t been here to provide it. It hadn’t changed my feelings toward her. And I wasn’t going to let myself feel guilty.  
  
I looked down at Lisa, nestled in my neck. She saw me looking and grinned a tired but sultry grin. “I would kiss you,” she said softly, “but I’m not sure I can move.”  
  
I smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead. “That’ll have to do, I think.”  
  
Lisa shifted a little closer, her nipples rubbing my skin. “I suppose so.”  
  
We fell asleep in each other’s arms.


	4. No Fucking About

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Preface:** An experiment with a post-canon, lezzy smut oneshot starring Bitch and WagTheDog (whose canon name is actually Cassie). Started off with Rachel's POV, but swapped to Cassie for the sex scene. Rachel is harder to write than I expected. I dunno if it really works, but like Cassie says: you never know until you try, right? (3,337 words)
> 
>  **Contains:** modestly rough sex, I guess. some biting and pinching.
> 
>  **Pairing(s):** Bitch/WagTheDog.

“Dinner’s ready!” Cassie called.  
  
Rachel gave the dog on her lap one final ruffle, then pushed him off, stood, and headed for the kitchen. Cassie was piling mashed potato onto a pair of plates. She glanced up as Rachel entered.  
  
“Hands,” Cassie said, pointing with her spoon.  
  
Rachel grunted and moved to the sink, giving her hands a quick scrub in their washbucket. Cassie was a stickler for that shit. Once done, Rachel pulled out her chair and sat while Cassie returned the pot to the stove and doled out the green vegetables. Rachel waited, putting a firm grip on her impatience. Cassie didn’t like it when people started eating without her.  
  
Cassie pulled a tray from the grill and dropped a piece of steak on her plate, then a piece on Rachel’s. It made Rachel’s mouth water. Steak was rare enough to always be something special, and this was char-grilled, just the way she liked it. It smelled good too.  
  
“Where’s Janie?” Cassie said.  
  
Rachel shrugged. “Left earlier.”  
  
“She did? Where’d she go?”  
  
“Boyfriend’s.”  
  
“She—what? She’s thirteen! Where the hell did she find a boyfriend?”  
  
Rachel shrugged again.  
  
“You think she’ll be back tonight?”  
  
“Don’t know. No.”  
  
“Damn.” Cassie tapped her fingers on the bench. She looked toward the grill, at the third piece of steak she’d cooked. “I wish she’d have told me first,” Cassie said. “Now that’s gonna go to waste.”  
  
Rachel looked at the steak. “I’ll eat it,” she said. “Later. Or we can split it, I don’t care.”  
  
Cassie nodded. “Okay, great. You can have it. Want me to leave it in the grill, or put it in the cooler?”  
  
“It’s fine,” Rachel said. “Are you going to sit down?”  
  
Cassie looked at her. “Oh, shit, sorry.” Cassie dropped her tongs in the sink, then sat opposite Rachel and scooted her chair forward. Their knees bumped together. The table wasn’t very big. Cassie picked up her knife and fork. “Thanks for waiting.”  
  
Rachel grunted, then dug in, picking up the steak with her hands and tearing into it with her teeth. The only cutlery on her side of the table was a fork, for the potato. No knife. Cassie knew Rachel didn’t use those.  
  
The steak was delicious.  
  
They ate mostly in silence, broken only by the dogs barking outside and the clinking and scraping of Cassie’s knife and fork on her plate. Rachel liked it that way. There was a time for talking and a time for eating. Trying to do both at once was stupid.  
  
Rachel finished off the steak and moved on to the potato, picking up her fork.  
  
“Do you like it?” Cassie said.  
  
Rachel glanced up. Cassie was watching her, cutlery resting on the edges of her plate. Rachel swallowed her mouthful. “It’s good,” she said. “Good job.”  
  
Cassie’s cheeks coloured, but she smiled. “Thanks.”  
  
“Mm,” Rachel grunted. “Now shut up. Talk later.”  
  
Cassie laughed and nodded. “Right,” she said, picking up her cutlery again.  
  
They continued eating.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Afterwards, Cassie put the leftovers in a container, then started scrubbing the pots and utensils while Rachel devoured the third piece of steak. Rachel finished quickly. She leaned back with a sigh, feeling very full. Cassie grabbed her plate and gave it a wash too, throwing the bones into the trash—they were too small for the dogs to chew safely.  
  
Rachel watched her work. “Where’d you get the meat?”  
  
Cassie glanced over her shoulder. “Those two guys that came through yesterday,” she said. “Remember them, with the pack mules and the bird cages? I bought a couple turkeys for the kids down at the shelter, and saw they had a few of these cuts on ice. Picked them up in Dali, they said. I bought them. Paid a good premium. I thought having a nice steak might make you feel better.”  
  
Rachel frowned. “Feel better? About what?”  
  
Cassie looked back again. “Biter.”  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“Uh… well, I don’t know how you’ve been doing, since he left. I mean, are you okay? I know how close you two were and all. Can’t be easy. You must miss him.”  
  
“Because we had sex?”  
  
Cassie’s cheeks coloured again. “Uh—you—huh?”  
  
“Is that what you mean?” Rachel said. “We’re close ‘cos we had sex?”  
  
“Err… yeah, I guess. Wasn’t he your boyfriend?”  
  
Rachel shook her head. “Not boyfriend. Close is the wrong word. We weren’t close. Not into that.” She picked at a bit of meat between her teeth. “Just friends. Just sex.”  
  
“Huh?” Cassie said, frowning. “How does that work? Like… you just had sex, and that’s it?”  
  
Rachel nodded. “When we wanted to. Miss _that_ , maybe. It was fun. He was good at it.”  
  
Cassie blushed. “You don’t miss him?”  
  
Rachel sighed, and didn’t say anything for a minute. It was hard to find the words. “Maybe. He was annoying, but helpful. And fun. Sometimes.” She leaned her head back, letting her neck come to rest on the chair. “He still annoys me. I don’t understand.”  
  
“Don’t understand what?”  
  
“Why he left,” Rachel growled. Did she have to spell everything out? “It’s stupid. Doesn’t make sense. We have everything we need, and your fries are good. He’s just an idiot.” She glared at Cassie. “And you’re being annoying.”  
  
“Sorry,” Cassie said. She went back to her scrubbing.  
  
Rachel sighed. “Food was good. Janie missed out.”  
  
Cassie laughed. “Maybe that’ll teach her to tell me before she leaves.”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
Cassie finished scrubbing their plates and stuck them in the rack to dry. Then she grabbed a loose cloth, dipped it in the soap water, and started wiping down the table and bench. Rachel lifted her hands to accommodate.  
  
The dogs barked outside.  
  
“How did it happen, the first time?” Cassie said.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You and Biter. How did it happen?”  
  
Rachel tilted her head. “I asked him.”  
  
“To have sex?” Cassie said, surprised. “You just… asked?”  
  
Rachel nodded. “Everyone should do that. Easy. Much less complicated. No fucking about.”  
  
Cassie paused in her cleaning. She fidgeted for a second, then spoke. “Did you like him?”  
  
“Sometimes. I said that.”  
  
“No, I mean, did you _like_ him? Romantically speaking?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “What’s that mean?”  
  
“It’s… urgh.” Cassie ran a hand through her hair. “It’s hard to explain. Um… why did you ask to have sex with him?”  
  
“Because I wanted to.”  
  
“Right, okay, but I mean… why did you _want_ to have sex with him?”  
  
Rachel stared at her. “I wanted to have sex. He was there.”  
  
Cassie blinked. “That’s it?”  
  
“Yeah. What’s it matter?”  
  
“I just…” She sighed. “I don’t know.” She threw her dishcloth into the sink and dropped into her chair. “It just seems like there should be more to it than that.”  
  
“Stupid.”  
  
“I guess,” Cassie chuckled. She looked at Rachel and chewed her lip for a moment. “So… what if I liked someone? What should I do?”  
  
Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. Why are you asking me? Talk to Janie.”  
  
“I’m not asking her!” Cassie sounded amused. “She’s too young. I just want to know what _you_ think I should do.”  
  
“Mm.” Rachel folded her arms. “Do you want to fuck them?”  
  
Cassie blushed. A finger reached up to play with the spiked collar around her neck. “Um… y-yeah. I guess.”  
  
“Then fuck them.” She sniffed. “Easy.”  
  
Cassie’s cheeks grew even more red. “But… what if they don’t like me the same way?”  
  
“Then they’re idiots.”  
  
Cassie laughed. “And what if I said this person was a girl? I don’t know if she’d be… open to the idea. I’m pretty sure she’s only been with men.”  
  
“Makes no difference,” Rachel said. “Fuck who you want to fuck. Doing anything else is a waste of time.” She paused, giving Cassie a moment to absorb her words. “Is that it?”  
  
“Uh… yeah,” Cassie said. “I suppose that’s it. Thanks.”  
  
“Mm.” Rachel stood. “You finish up here. I’ll do the dogs.”  
  
“‘Kay,” Cassie said, then got up and started putting the rest of the leftovers into the cooler.  
  
Rachel headed outside to check on the dogs. They were good. Rachel topped up their water buckets and binned any new shits, scratching chins as she passed.  
  
Cassie came out after a few minutes, and went around saying “Good night” to each dog in turn. Rachel stopped to pet Bastard. He grumbled in his sleep and rolled onto his back. She scratched his belly, making him stretch his arms out and groan.  
  
Cassie walked over. “Good night, Bastard,” she whispered, giving him a rub of her own. “See you in the morning.” Then she moved on to Sunny.  
  
Rachel watched Cassie for a moment, then glanced down at Bastard. “See you in the morning,” Rachel said too. She gave him one final pat, then turned and headed inside.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Cassie closed the door to her room and moved to her bed, taking care not to stumble in the darkness—though thankfully there wasn’t anything to trip her over. She slid into her blankets and settled down, intending to sleep.  
  
Her mind had other ideas.  
  
God, why had she _asked_ that? She was so embarrassed. Could she be any _less_ subtle?  
  
Then again… now that Cassie thought about it, Rachel wouldn’t care about subtlety, or romance, or anything like that. She’d appreciate bluntness. Straight-forwardness. She’d _said_ as much, right to Cassie’s face.  
  
And Rachel wasn’t the kind of person to let a proposition change the way she thought of someone. That wasn’t her. She’d either say yes, or she’d say no. If she said no, Cassie could just return to her room and go to sleep. Nothing would change. But if she said yes…  
  
Cassie stood, throwing her blankets back.  
  
No fucking about. Rachel’s words.  
  
Cassie left her room and went down the hall, stopping outside Rachel’s door. She hesitated, like an idiot. But she steeled herself, thinking about what Rachel had said, and knocked on the door.  
  
Her cheeks were only a little bit red.  
  
“What?”  
  
Rachel’s voice.  
  
Cassie opened the door. Rachel stood by her bed, clearly preparing for sleep herself. Cassie crossed the room, trying to keep her steps from giving away how nervous she felt, and stopped in front of Rachel.  
  
Cassie didn’t say anything, just staring at Rachel’s nose and breathing deep breaths, building her courage. Meeting Rachel’s eyes would’ve been too hard.  
  
“What is it?” Rachel said again.  
  
Cassie kissed her. Roughly. Not the gentle, passionate kind of kisses she’d often exchanged with her first girlfriend, no. This was a mashing of lips, teeth bumping together. The kind of kiss you’d expect from two people who were really fucking angry with each other. Cassie bit down on Rachel’s bottom lip as she pulled away—she figured Rachel would like that.  
  
Rachel stared at her. Her breath was coming a little harder, as was Cassie’s.  
  
Cassie suddenly felt very silly. But she forced past it—she hadn’t given the actual proposition yet, and you never know until you try, right? “You told me to… fuck who I want to fuck,” she said, hooking a finger in the waist of Rachel’s pants. “I want to fuck you.”  
  
Rachel glanced down. She growled and pushed Cassie’s hand away, then met Cassie’s eyes, puffing herself up like she was about to pick a fight. Cassie gulped, starting to worry she’d gravely misjudged things. Then Rachel grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her onto the bed, leaning over her. Cassie felt herself grow wet.  
  
“Two things,” Rachel said.  
  
Cassie stared, wide-eyed. “Uh—huh?”  
  
“This is sex. Don’t make it something else. Don’t be stupid.”  
  
Cassie nodded. This was more than she could have hoped for. And it was more than a little hot. “A-and the second thing?”  
  
Rachel leaned in closer, their eyes meeting. Cassie looked away with a blush. “You’re not in charge,” Rachel said. “I am.”  
  
Then, before Cassie could respond, Rachel’s hand was in her pants, calloused fingers driving right past her panties and forcing their way into her pussy. She gasped, her entire body tensing up at the sudden entry—though she was already wet enough that it posed no problem.  
  
Rachel planted one hand on the bed beside Cassie and began her finger-fucking in earnest. Rachel wasn’t gentle about it, and her fingernails weren’t as closely trimmed as Cassie would have liked, but _holy shit,_ it didn’t matter—Cassie loved every _moment_ of it.  
  
Her legs trembled uncontrollably beneath Rachel’s assault as her body fought to pull away—though she didn’t truly want to escape. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her stomach undulating unevenly in proof. She heard her own moans and gasps and attempts at saying Rachel’s name—all cut short by the relentlessness of Rachel’s fingers in her pussy. Her hands raked at the bedsheets, already struggling to keep her propped upright, until finally she collapsed onto her back, her arms moving instead to curl around Rachel, pulling her closer.  
  
Rachel growled again, withdrawing her fingers. Cassie whined, already missing the roughness. But her whine turned into a squeal as Rachel grabbed her and spun her around so she faced the wall. Cassie barely had a second to come to terms with her new position before Rachel’s hands grasped Cassie’s pants and tore them straight down to her knees—panties included. And then Rachel’s hand was cupping Cassie’s sopping pussy once more, fingernails pinching and squeezing her labia and making her flinch instinctively, though it felt _wonderful_.  
  
Then Rachel slipped her fingers inside and resumed her raw, almost animalistic finger-fucking. Cassie collapsed onto her chest, her ass held up by Rachel’s hands, as Rachel’s rough fingers reached deeper than ever, deeper than _anyone’s_ fingers had ever gone. Rachel fucked her hard and fast, giving no real thought to technique. There was no clever twisting or curling, no variance in speed and depth. Just pure friction, Rachel’s fingernails and calloused tips grinding against every inch of Cassie’s pussy as they moved in and out and in and out, again and again and again, never stopping, never ceasing, not ever giving Cassie a moment of rest.  
  
Cassie had never expected something so simple to feel so _amazing_ , but this was so _hot_! She’d never been so turned on in her _life_. Not that she had time to _consider_ that—Rachel’s fingers kept her more than occupied. She felt Rachel lean in over her body, felt Rachel’s clothes slide against the bare skin of her ass. She shivered and curled up into her lover’s body. She felt Rachel’s breath against her neck, though Rachel’s fingers never stopped.  
  
Then Rachel bit her, teeth grabbing a chunk of her neck and biting down _hard_ , maybe hard enough to draw blood. It _hurt_ , but Cassie didn’t care—it only served to rile her up even further. Her entire body began to tremble as Rachel’s fingers continued to fuck her, _destroying_ her pussy—or so it felt—and Rachel bit her again, and again, just as hard, in different places each time.  
  
Like she was marking Cassie as her own.  
  
The thought made her whine. She gasped and spluttered pleas, begging Rachel not to stop, to fuck her harder and _harder_ and never, ever, _ever_ stop. Doubtless her utterances were broken nonsense, her breath coming as short as it was, but Rachel seemed to understand, and did as Cassie asked: her fingers started to move _faster_ , _harder_ , _deeper_ , too fast for Cassie’s pussy to adapt, her tight clamping not slowing Rachel’s fingers at all. Cassie found herself unable to do anything but gasp and whine and bite down on the mattress. It was so fucking _GOOD_!  
  
Then Rachel’s other hand slapped Cassie’s ass, and Cassie came with a scream, barely muffled by the mattress, her pussy spasming in a climactic euphoria. But Rachel didn’t stop. Her fingers didn’t stop fucking Cassie’s half-ruined pussy. Her hand slapped Cassie’s ass again, just as hard, fingernails digging in painfully, _sweetly_. Cassie’s legs kicked pointlessly, trying to get away, to push Rachel back, but Rachel’s grip was too strong, and Cassie’s strength had all but left her.  
  
She came again.  
  
And again.  
  
Finally, Rachel got a clue—though Cassie was a slobbering mess by then: her mouth locked in a gasp, her heart racing fast enough it seemed about to explode, her chest working madly as if she were in the midst of hyperventilation. Rachel let go of her ass, and Cassie collapsed to the bed with a pleased groan. Her pussy felt _raw_. Like sitting down was going to hurt for a long while.  
  
Dimly, she felt Rachel move, climbing onto the bed. Cassie glanced over and watched as Rachel stripped naked, discarding her clothes to the floor. Cassie couldn’t take her eyes away. Rachel wasn’t beautiful—she hardly counted as _pretty_ on her best days—but her body was toned and hard and _hot_ , with large, firm breasts above a tight abdomen and strong thighs fencing in a dark-lipped, unshaven pussy. The sight of Rachel’s body made Cassie feel hot again.  
  
Rachel leaned down and hooked a finger in the collar Cassie wore about her neck, then used it to pull Cassie forward. Rachel spread her legs, giving Cassie a good look at her pussy.  
  
“Lick.”  
  
Cassie was exhausted, but not _that_ exhausted. She crawled forward and immediately buried her mouth in Rachel’s already-wet pussy, eating her out with as much gusto as she could muster. She made a concentrated effort to be as rough as she could, using her teeth to great effect: nibbling on Rachel’s labia and clitoris and drawing back every so often with one of Rachel’s folds stuck between her teeth, stretching it out.  
  
Rachel seemed to enjoy it. She grunted every time Cassie bit her, and groaned whenever Cassie sent her tongue in for some spelunking. Not long after Cassie started work, Rachel brought her hands up to knead her own breasts, squeezing them hard, digging her fingernails into her skin, pinching and pulling at her nipples. It turned Cassie on even _more_ , knowing she was pleasing the woman she adored, and she doubled down on her own efforts, pushing Rachel’s legs further apart and keeping them there with her hands.  
  
Cassie felt Rachel’s hand on the back of her head, and suddenly she was being pushed further into Rachel’s crotch, her mouth touching nothing but pussy, her nose grinding against Rachel’s clitoris. It was becoming difficult to breathe, but Rachel’s hand kept Cassie locked against her hot, dripping pussy.  
  
“Harder.”  
  
Cassie nodded and did as commanded, eager to please—and knowing the only way she would be released and allowed to breathe without obstruction was if she made Rachel come, and come hard.  
  
So she did just that.  
  
Her jaw soon became sore, but her tongue and teeth worked tirelessly, biting and pulling and licking and thrusting. Cassie brought her hands over to help. She thrust two fingers as far into Rachel’s tight pussy as they could fit, and used what little technique she’d picked up in high school to show Rachel the intricacies of finger-fucking another woman.  
  
Rachel liked it, if her grunting moans were any indication—Cassie suspected Rachel would have been just as happy with a similar treatment to what she had given Cassie not long ago, but Cassie didn’t have the energy for that. The other hand Cassie used to pinch and flick at Rachel’s clit, to even greater effect, leaving Rachel’s body quivering.  
  
It wasn’t long before she came.  
  
—————————————————  
  
Afterwards, Cassie lay curled against Rachel’s side, her head on Rachel’s chest as Rachel stroked Cassie’s hair the way she stroked the dogs. It made Cassie feel safe.  
  
Cassie shifted, pulling the blanket over them more. “Did I do good?” she said tiredly.  
  
Rachel grunted. “You were fine,” she said, reaching a hand down to squeeze Cassie’s ass. “You can do better next time.”  
  
“Mm…” Cassie said, running her hand over Rachel’s firm stomach. “Next time…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** So, do you think it worked?


	5. The Skitterpan Smut Chronicles: Volume 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Preface:** What follows is a smutty omake (by me, of course) for another story of mine ([Oops](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6400423)), inspired by a comment on Questionable Questing. I figured I’d give Oops readers something extra because of how short [Part 3](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/20621668) is (both of these together are a few hundred words longer than [Part 2](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/17377294)). I feel like I did several things wrong here. I’m not entirely sure what all of those things are, but I am pretty sure that sitting on this and spending weeks trying to fix it is not what anybody wants (see what I said above). So… here. Have my terrible first attempt at a blowjob scene. (5,108 words)
> 
>  **Contains:** futa, bad smut, lots of cum, and cock-drunkedness. That's a thing, right?
> 
>  **Pairing(s):** Taylor/Amy.

The first thing I saw when I awoke was her.  
  
Taylor.  
  
She lay beside me, naked and uncovered. Her hair flowed down her shoulders and onto the sheets, curly and luscious, a stark contrast to the sweet paleness of her skin. Her expression the very portrait of peace, of contentness—though the smile on her lips was subtle enough that it could have been my imagination. Her breasts, small but perfect, rising and falling as she breathed: mesmerising, tantalising.  
  
I felt like I should look away, like drinking in the sight before me was immoral because she was asleep. But the thought was only whispered in the back of my mind, and I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it. This was the first time in a long time I’d seen another girl naked—the first time since puberty. But I’d never seen another girl like _this_ , laid truly _bare_ , exposed to me in her entirety: a potent reminder of the intimacy we’d shared only last night, and of how I had given myself in _my_ entirety to _her_ in our half-remembered lovemaking.  
  
And Taylor, as she lay before me like this, was beautiful.  
  
Not in the conventional sense, exactly—if she ever tried to model, her agent would probably have complaints about her lips, a little too wide; or her bone structure, more gangly than slim; or her skin, not _perfectly_ smooth; or her breasts, as small as they were.  
  
But I didn’t see that. I didn’t see _any_ of that. I just saw… her.  
  
A wind blew through the window behind me, causing a strand of hair to fall across Taylor’s face. I reached up and pushed it away, behind her ear. She made a quiet sound of appreciation, her head turning towards my hand, her lips brushing my skin. I shivered at the cold and shifted closer to her, seeking the comfort of her arms, the comfort I dimly remembered falling asleep to last night.  
  
She was very warm. I couldn’t avoid my sigh of contentment. She shifted closer, our skin rubbing together, as if she sought the same thing as I had in her sleep.  
  
Something bumped against my stomach. Something hard and hot.  
  
I knew it the moment it touched me. I recognised it. But I looked down all the same, and there it was. The penis. The _cock_.  
  
That word made me quiver. I stared at it, watching the way it throbbed, feeling how it matched the pulsing of Taylor’s heartbeats. I remembered putting it there. My… heat-of-the-moment confession as I asked if it was possible. The all-too-rare happiness I’d felt when she’d accepted. The puzzle, the challenge of actually _building_ it and making it _work_ , and the subsequent satisfaction of _succeeding_.  
  
And how we’d used it, afterwards.  
  
I remembered sitting on her lap, our bodies so close, and lowering myself upon her, taking it to the base. I remembered how hot it had been inside of me, how full I had felt with it penetrating to my very core. I remembered the satisfaction, the _pleasure_ as I had begun to ride her truly. I remembered the look on Taylor’s face that bespoke of her _own_ pleasure, the sounds she’d made, the sounds _I’d_ made, and how good all of _that_ had made me feel too.  
  
I remembered how she had been so gentle yet so passionate, so inflamed with lust, and how she’d taken over the duties of thrusting into me, _fucking me_ , allowing me to lie back and _revel_ in our intimacy. And then the ultimate fulfilment as we came together, the hotness I’d created for her filling me completely.  
  
I remembered it all.  
  
And it made me so, _so_ aroused.  
  
I reached down and tapped the penis, drawing back as it jerked at my touch. I swallowed past a sudden thickness in my throat—a thickness of lust, not anxiety. I closed my hand around it, fingers wrapping the shaft, feeling all the minor veins and protrusions and the _details_ that made it so _realistic_ , though I didn’t remember adding them. It continued to throb in my grip.  
  
I ran my hand up and down the shaft: slowly, gently. I didn’t want to hurt her by accident. It was warm. No, it was _hot_. Taylor groaned softly and shifted even closer, one arm falling onto my side, her hand coming to rest on my hip as if guided by some invisible force. Her touch made me shiver.  
  
Through some miracle of will, I managed to look away from what I held in my hand, instead looking at Taylor’s face. Her eyebrows were furrowed slightly, a detail I only noticed because of how close we were. I continued stroking her cock, up and down, letting my fingers glide over her skin, using my thumb to brush the head when my hand was high enough—and watching Taylor’s expression all the while.  
  
The longer I stroked her, the more emotive she became. Her hips bucked with every other stroke, an almost imperceptible movement. Her breath came quicker, her lips parted a fraction. Her brow creased further, making her look almost pained, but the quiet moans and other sounds that escaped her lips belied what she was truly feeling—what _I_ was truly _making_ her feel. Pleasure.  
  
It was a nice feeling: to know I was making her feel good, even a little bit. I liked it. And _she_ liked it too—or she seemed to, at least. I kept stroking her, feeling how her dick began to throb quicker and quicker as I worked. I couldn’t lie—I enjoyed just _holding_ it; the actual act of jerking her off only made it better.  
  
I kept working, increasing speed. Taylor’s cheeks began to redden—a biological reaction. I knew I was blushing even more than she was, but I didn’t let that stop me. I didn’t _want_ to stop. I _couldn’t_. I looked down and watched as my hand worked up and down her cock, my other hand finding purchase between my legs and starting to tend to my own needs.  
  
Taylor groaned, her hand squeezing my hip. “What are you doing?”  
  
I froze. I looked up at her face—her eyes were open now, watching me blearily. Her cheeks, still flushed. “Uh…”  
  
She looked down at the penis on her crotch… and at my hand, wrapped around it. I was still jerking her off, like my hand was on autopilot. I stopped. But it didn’t occur to me to _let go_.  
  
She stared at our connection for a long moment. Then she looked at me. “Oh.”  
  
It suddenly hit me what I’d been doing—to her sleeping body, no less. I flushed like a raspberry covered in red paint. “Uh,” I said. “I was just—it—uh…”  
  
Taylor stared at my nose, blushing hard. She couldn’t meet my eyes any more than I could have met hers. “Can you… keep going?” she said.  
  
I blinked. I’d expected something more akin to condemnation or disgust, not… encouragement. I wet my lips—they suddenly felt very dry.  
  
“O-okay,” I said, then started stroking her cock once more. Those telltale signs of pleasure presented themselves again: her breath catching, jaw tightening. I could feel how her body tensed—especially the muscles in her butt—as she instinctively thrust her hips toward me, her dick rubbing against my belly and leaving a light smear of warm wetness in its wake. Some of Taylor’s pre dribbled down onto my hand, still gripping and stroking her girth. She moaned, then clapped her hands over her mouth in embarrassment.  
  
“I-is that good?” I said. “I’ve… never done this before.”  
  
“Mm,” Taylor said with a jerky nod. “Y-yeah.”  
  
I looked down at my work and ran my thumb over the head of her cock, making her shudder. Then an idea occurred to me—a wonderful, _brilliant_ idea. I licked my lips again—but not because they were dry. I started to shuffle further down the bed, causing my stroking to become inconsistent.  
  
“Whuh?” Taylor said, blinking herself into focus. “What are you— _uh_ —doing, now?”  
  
“I-I have an idea,” I said. My face felt like it was on fire, and I avoided looking at her directly. “S-something they do a lot in porn. Can I, uh… can I try it on you?”  
  
I could feel Taylor’s eyes on me. Her hand was on my head now, having moved as I shuffled downward, unable to stay on my hip. My face was level with her cock, now, giving me an up-close-and-personal view. I took a moment to admire my own handiwork. The detail was _amazing_.  
  
She swallowed visibly, watching me. I didn’t doubt she knew what I intended. “Will I like it?”  
  
My throat felt thick again. It was my turn to swallow. “If I do it right, I hope so,” I said.  
  
Taylor remained quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “Go ahead.”  
  
I nodded, then I leaned forward and took her in my mouth. Her reaction was an immediate, sharp gasp. Her fingers jerked into a fist in my hair. It hurt a little—but it hurt in the good way. The way I was just realising I really, _really_ liked. I swirled my tongue, running it around the head of Taylor’s cock. I was rewarded with another jerk in her hips, her thighs quivering. Her dick tasted a little bitter, and the musty smell was overwhelming, but I liked that too. No, more than liked it. I _loved_ it.  
  
I moved forwards slowly, allowing her cock to fill my mouth more and more, taking care not to scratch her with my teeth. As I did, I let my hand drift down to my pussy again, intent on alleviating the feeling that built there. But the position was awkward, with my lower half falling off the edge of the bed. I growled, letting the world know of my irritation.  
  
I removed my mouth from Taylor’s length—making her groan and throw me a disappointed look—then I wrapped my hands around her butt and pulled her down the bed, until she was seated on the edge. The moment she was in place, I squatted in front of her and pushed her legs apart. Then I took her cock in my mouth again, eliciting a _squeak_ of all things. I smiled around her length, looking up at her. She was covering her face in embarrassment, but she left enough gaps between her fingers that she could stare down at me.  
  
Our eyes met.  
  
It was such a simple thing, our eyes meeting. But holy _shit_ did it turn me on. I popped her length out of my mouth again. Then I kissed the head, as slowly and sensually as I thought I could manage without looking like an idiot, letting her feel the warmth of my mouth.  
  
I kissed my way down the rest of her cock, punctuating each slow kiss with a lick of my tongue on her shaft, keeping my fingers busy with brushes and a slow, steady stroking on the parts of her penis not yet touched by my lips. I went all the way down to her crotch, then licked my way back up and made my way down the other side.  
  
And the whole time, I maintained eye contact. It was entrancing, somehow. I wasn’t sure I could have looked away even if I’d wanted to. And I felt like it made the whole thing more meaningful. Like I wasn’t just sucking a cock; I was sucking _her_ cock, and like I was doing it for a _reason_. That reason being… I wanted to. I wanted to make her feel good—like she’d made me feel the previous night, even after I’d shared one of my deepest secrets. I wanted to taste her sweat, her pre, and—hopefully—her cum. The cum I’d made, just for this.  
  
And somehow that thought turned me on even more. Luckily, my own spread legs proved much more accommodating to my fingers. I set them to rubbing my pussy—my wet, _needy_ pussy. Seeking my own pleasure that way made me feel slutty. I discovered I liked that too.  
  
The noises Taylor made were muted, short squeaks and tiny moans. I was pretty sure she was keeping quiet on purpose—probably out of embarrassment—but the sounds pleased me regardless.  
  
I was hit by a sudden sense of _purpose_. I wanted to her her voice unrestrained. I made it my mission to make her squeal. To make her _scream_. And most of all, to receive her cum.  
  
That meant I had to pleasure her as best I could.  
  
I grinned with genuine excitement, and got to work.  
  
I took her cock between my lips again, letting the head fill my mouth. My hand stroked the lower half of her shaft harder and faster, like I was trying to milk her for everything she had. I entered something of a haze, a world where nothing existed except the two of us, where nothing _mattered_ except her cock. I worked my head down, taking her deeper and deeper into my mouth, driven by a single-minded desire—a laser focus I’d never experienced before now.  
  
She moaned and gasped and shook, her legs trembling, the muscles in her abdomen tightening more and more the further down I went, my tongue constantly working the underside of her shaft. I tried to vary my technique, licking and sucking every so often. I was almost _slobbering_ over her cock. Like… like a wanton slut. _That_ thought compounded my arousal. Suddenly my fingers were working my pussy even harder, and I couldn’t stop from moaning the same way Taylor was.  
  
I lowered myself another inch, and the head of her penis bumped against the back of my throat. My limit. I could tell maintaining this would be hard. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, my mouth so filled with cock, my nose so filled with her scent. My mouth felt more full than it had ever been _…_ but I was barely halfway.  
  
Drool squeezed past my lips, dribbling onto my chest. This would be very messy if I wasn’t already naked. I swallowed what I could—Taylor liked that; she gave a shaky groan and threw her head back, falling onto her elbows as her hips tried to push deeper into me.  
  
My hand on her crotch stopped her. By accident. I realised I didn’t _want_ to stop her. It seemed like her cock already filled my mouth as much as it possibly could, and that last inch had been hard enough, but… I thought I could get her deeper. I _wanted_ her deeper. So I grit my teeth—figuratively speaking—and forced myself further down, trying to ignore my throat’s protests, trying to ignore how my eyes watered.  
  
I failed. My gag reflex made itself known. I was forced to pull my head all the way back, Taylor’s cock leaving my mouth with an audible _pop_ , still connected to me by stringy lines of my saliva. I coughed and gasped for breath, my lungs working hard.  
  
Taylor sat up sharply, panting. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Y-yeah,” I said between breaths. I gave her dick a comforting stroke. “I—I’m fine. Sorry.”  
  
“No,” Taylor said. “It’s… Y-you have nothing to be sorry for.” She patted my hair awkwardly. “Just, uh, don’t—don’t force yourself. Please?”  
  
I looked up at her. She was leaning over me, looking worried. Her cheeks were still flushed with arousal, her breath coming almost as hard as mine. Her lips somehow looked fuller than they had before. But they were no less enticing.  
  
“I’m not,” I said, then pulled her down for a kiss. A long, passionate kiss, as sensual as I could manage. It didn’t feel as embarrassing as the prospect had been before. Not with what I’d just been doing to her cock.  
  
A minute later, we pulled apart, the both of us breathing hard—again. Taylor’s hand sat atop the hand I’d placed on her jaw. She stared at me, our eyes meeting once more.  
  
I kissed her again, then moved to suckle at her neck. She gave an appreciative moan, her hands wrapping around my head.  
  
“Did you like it?” I mumbled.  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“What I was just doing,” I said. “Down there.” I squeezed her cock for emphasis.  
  
“Oh!” Taylor gasped, her hips jerking. “U-um… yeah. It—it felt amazing.“  
  
I suckled at her neck a bit more, my hand still absently stroking her saliva-slick cock. “I’m going to try again,” I said, then pushed her back onto the bed and dropped to my knees.  
  
“You’re going to— _ooh_!”  
  
I took her in my mouth again, working the tip of her cock while I thought. I wanted to take her to the root. I wanted to sheathe the entirety of her length in my throat. I had to make up for my failure, no matter what Taylor thought. But I didn’t have the experience I’d need to bypass the two major barriers to achieving that feat…  
  
So I cheated. I used my power. And a few moments of fiddling later, Taylor’s penis had been sufficiently modified. Her pre now doubled as a muscle relaxant—to help bypass my gag reflex—and her shaft was now home to a special network of pores, designed specifically to provide the air I would need. I grinned. That should work.  
  
Passion newly inflamed, I worked my head down her cock once more, slowly and inexorably taking inch after inch deep into my mouth, driven on by Taylor’s moans and the way her fingers tightened in my hair—like they had before.  
  
My tongue numbed as Taylor’s altered pre dribbled down. Then her cock hit the back of my throat again. That surprised me—I hadn’t noticed how far down I was. Clearly the oxidisation was working. I smiled around her length. That bode well.  
  
I paused my forward push. Taylor’s pre would need a moment to properly numb my throat, but that didn’t mean I had to stop servicing her. So I sucked at her cock, licking the underside of the shaft like it was a massive, throbbing lollipop.  
  
I looked up, at Taylor’s face. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her lip trembling as she mewled, her breaths coming in short, jerky gasps. Through my power, I could feel her toes curling, and I could see _exactly_ how aroused she was. That made me happy. I almost wanted to giggle—but giggling with a cock _this deep_ in my mouth would look incredibly stupid.  
  
My left hand was still fingering my pussy. I purposefully kept myself on the edge, despite how hot I felt. I wanted to come, but more than that… I didn’t want to come _before_ Taylor. That would be another failure. I wouldn’t abide another failure.  
  
I felt my throat tingle with the first signs of numbness. It could do to wait a little longer, but I wasn’t feeling very patient right then. I placed my right hand on Taylor’s thigh for support, took a deep breath—or as deep a breath as I _could_ take—and forced my head forwards.  
  
Taylor’s cock speared down my throat. My gag reflex screamed, but I slid down too fast for it to have any effect. Moisture welled in my eyes. My throat felt so _full_. Not even an inch down, her cock felt like it was _impossibly_ deep. Like there was no way it could possibly go any further.  
  
But that’s exactly what happened.  
  
Taylor squealed as I sheathed almost her entire length in my throat, my nose coming to rest against her hip. The last functional part of my brain belatedly noticed she was shaved bare. Drool and pre spilled from my mouth like a miniature waterfall. I couldn’t even swallow. My vision was blurry from the wetness. Taylor’s hands twisted painful knots in my hair. I felt so full. I traced the bulge in my neck with one hand. It seemed impossibly large. And it was so, _so_ , _SO_ fucking _hot_!  
  
My other hand worked my pussy to the very brink, my juices spilling onto the sheets below. I barely had the sense of mind to stop myself from climaxing. Taylor’s own juices ran down her legs too, and I belatedly remembered… I hadn’t touched her vagina. Not since I gave her the dick in the first place—and even then, I’d barely licked it once. That part of her had yet to be pleasured at all. Her pussy must have been lonely.  
  
I glanced up, blinking away the moisture in my eyes. Taylor was still trembling and shaking; presumably still reeling from the feeling of having her cock _all the way_ down my throat. She was speaking—or trying to, at least, saying “Amy!” and “Yes!” and “Oh God!” over and over and over again in a jerky, broken, mewling voice, gasping constantly as her throbbing thickness was constricted by my throat.  
  
I smiled up at her—if you really stretched the definition; my mouth was too full for a _proper_ smile. I liked knowing I was giving her pleasure. It made me _happy_ , as weird as that is. I didn’t get much chance to feel happy. It was a welcome feeling. So I showed my appreciation… by not giving her any respite. I moved the hand I had on Taylor’s thigh closer to her groin and started playing with her labia, coating my fingers in her wetness.  
  
Taylor jumped and shuddered. Her hands—still tied in my hair—jerked, pulling me even deeper into her crotch. At the same time, her hips thrust forward instinctively. I hadn’t thought her cock could get any deeper, but Taylor managed it somehow, forcing her length further down my throat—and not at all gently. Despite the numbing effect of her pre, it hurt. Or rather, it was immensely uncomfortable. My throat wasn’t built for this… this… _face-fucking_. I shivered. Something about those two words felt incredibly _naughty_ , compounding my arousal even more. I loved it.  
  
My body wasn’t quite as pleased. It groaned by pure reflex, and Taylor noticed. She tore her hands away from my head and babbled apologies at me, awkwardly trying to pull her hips back. I grabbed her butt to stop her, and shot my other hand out to grab her wrist. I pulled her hand back down, placing it atop my head again, and using it to push me back down onto her cock.  
  
Our eyes met, for the hundredth time. She nodded understanding. Then, teasingly slow, she began to move my head up and down, working her dick in and out of my mouth with her hands and hips while I continued fingering the both of us. Her pussy was tight and hot around my finger, the muscles tightening every time she thrust into my throat.  
  
I took care to keep my mouth open as wide as I could, keeping my tongue active, lapping and licking at the cock it shared a living space with. But I didn’t make any movements of my own. That was up to Taylor. It took her a minute to work herself up, but once she was confident I wouldn’t break, she stopped holding back and started to fuck my throat in earnest, hard and fast and thorough—just the way she’d fucked my pussy last night.  
  
I was no longer just sucking her cock, no longer _giving_ her a blowjob. Taylor was _taking_ it. She was _using_ me to pleasure _herself_. Like I wasn’t even a person anymore, just an object to be used.  
  
A hole, to be fucked.  
  
It turned me on like you wouldn’t believe.  
  
Taylor gradually sped up, until she was just about mashing my nose into her hips with every thrust, her cock ramming the whole way down my throat. I could only imagine what the bulge must look like—and my imaginings were _hot_. I couldn’t see for the water in my eyes, my sinuses clogging completely.  
  
I had one hand buried in her pussy, and another in my own, working furiously. I didn’t have the presence of mind to apply any real technique, but even still, I was close—so, _so_ close—and I could tell Taylor was too. She curled in over me, gripping my head with trembling hands, her mouth working silently. Through my power, I sensed her cock preparing to erupt.  
  
I wanted it, badly. Her cum. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything else. I wanted to taste it. I wanted to _drink_ it. I wanted her to cover my face with it, like I was her plaything, her own private slut. In that instant I made an unconscious decision, fueled by lust: I tweaked her semen production. Just a bit. I could not have formed a coherent sentence that moment, much less a coherent _thought_ , but even in this state I knew. I didn’t want her to run out before I’d had my fun.  
  
“I—I—” Taylor gasped. “I’m gonna—”  
  
I pinched her clitoris on instinct, and she climaxed with a squeal, hot semen shooting down my throat. It was so warm. So _hot_! It felt wonderful. Like my deepest desire had finally been filled. The heat of her cum seemed to flood my body, filling me with an unparalleled sense of satisfaction and _comfort_ , like a hot shower after a long day, only _more_. My climax followed right on the heel of Taylor’s, but even as my body shook I remained focused on my goal.  
  
I swallowed as much of her cum as I could, unable to take the time to even _taste_ it, but there was too much. I was forced to pull back until only the tip of Taylor’s dick remained in my mouth, her cum exploding onto my tongue. It tasted as amazing as it felt. But I still couldn’t swallow fast enough. Her cum filled my mouth to the brim, making my cheeks bulge out obscenely, and I couldn’t hold her inside me any longer. Despite my best efforts, her cock popped out of my mouth and slapped wetly onto my face: ropes of thick, musky semen shooting into the air with every twitch.  
  
My eyes snapped shut as cum covered my face, coating my forehead, matting my hair together, clogging my nose with the smell, dribbling into my slack-jawed mouth. Taylor slid off the bed and landed on her knees in front of me—knocking me off balance in the process. I collapsed onto her. Her cock smacked against my stomach, still shooting semen up onto my body. The tiniest, most distant part of my mind (and the last part _conscious_ ) told me that I may have overdone it with my tweaking.  
  
We were both panting, breaths coming hard and fast and going just as quick. Semen from my mouth dribbled onto her chest, even as her cock gave my neck and breasts and stomach a liberal coating. More semen ran down to my legs, some catching in my pubic hair and some falling to the sheets below. The smell was strong. Overpowering. _Intoxicating_. It flooded my mind. Left me unable to think about anything else. Unable to think at all. I could only lie trembling against Taylor as I orgasmed again. We clutched at each other, shaking and crying from the overwhelming release.  
  
We entered some kind of orgasmic feedback loop. We weren’t actually _doing_ anything to each other anymore, yet we somehow shared orgasm after orgasm after orgasm until eventually, finally, it stopped. We had fallen to our sides on the floor, utterly devoid of energy. I raised a shaky hand to clear some of Taylor’s cum from my face, then cracked my eyes open.  
  
Taylor looked exhausted: eyes glazed and lidded. She stared at my nose, still panting. I put my fingers in my mouth and licked them clean. Her cum was still delicious. I wiped some more off my cheek. Taylor’s eyes came back into focus, and she watched intently as I cleaned my fingers off again, savouring her taste. I was half-tempted to put on a show for her, but I couldn’t summon the effort—and I was more concerned with tasting as much of her cum as I could.  
  
I looked down. My chest was covered in cum too. I massaged it into my skin. It felt good. It paled in comparison to what I’d felt a few minutes earlier, but that was fine by me. Another orgasm like that and I feared I’d never recover. I felt a hand wrap around my neck, and turned up—just as Taylor pulled me into a deep kiss, her tongue sliding in to trap mine. I moaned and sidled closer as we swapped saliva, and remnants of Taylor’s semen. I wondered if she found it as appetising as I did.  
  
Her cock— _still_ hard, after everything—rubbed against my stomach. A glance downward confirmed it was also coated in cum. As was the rest of Taylor’s body. My mind still felt hazy, so my body acted on instinct. I broke away from Taylor’s lips with only a smidge of regret, then began licking my way down Taylor’s body, cleaning up cum and sweat as I went.  
  
Once her breasts were clean, I moved on to her stomach, and then down to her crotch. I caressed her cock while I licked her thighs, then took her in my mouth and bobbed my head lightly—not intending to pleasure her so much as to clean things up a little, though I didn’t object to Taylor’s moaning. My belly felt full.  
  
I heard the door open. I paid it no mind, until Taylor stiffened, sitting up hurriedly and stammering. I pulled myself off her and turned, mind still hazy. Victoria stood in the doorway, staring at me—at _us_ —slack-jawed.  
  
I blinked at her, and my brain decided that was the right time to reboot. My eyes took in the entire scene in a moment: Taylor and I, lying naked on the floor; the penis on Taylor’s crotch, slick with saliva, my hand still grasping it by the base; the truly _ridiculous_ amount of cum on the floor, and on my body. And Victoria, seeing it all.  
  
My expression defined the word ‘ _horrified_.’  
  
“M-my bad,” Victoria said, then closed the door.  
  
I passed out.


	6. The Mouse Misbehaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Preface:** Danny Hebert attends a parent/teacher conference with his wife. An attempt at an omniscient third-person viewpoint, which I've never done before. I feel like it makes sex harder to write, so the sex here is pretty short. Like this preface. (4,205 words)
> 
> **Contains:** Mouse Protector being a bit of a bitch—and getting some light, consensual "punishment" in return.
> 
> **Pairing(s):** Danny Hebert/Mouse Protector (Melanie Hebert, here).

The teacher aide opened the conference room door, allowing a young man to step out. She consulted her clipboard for a moment before calling for the next set of parents. “Daniel and Melanie Herbert?”  
  
Melanie jumped out of her chair. “It’s _He_ -bert, actually.”  
  
“Oh,” the aide said. “My mistake.”  
  
Danny waved a hand at her as Melanie tugged him to his feet. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Happens all the time.”  
  
“Yeah, all the time. No worries…” Melanie leaned forward and squinted at the aide’s name-tag. “…Arm-burr.”  
  
The aide blinked. “It’s Am—Oh. I see.”  
  
Danny grabbed his wife’s arm and smiled at the aide. “We’ll go in, now,” he said. “Thank you.” Then he dragged Melanie into the conference room, closing the door behind them.  
  
An woman in her mid-fifties sat at a table, her hair in a bun and horn-rimmed spectacles adorning her face. A few sheets of paper were laid out before her. She glanced up as they moved closer. The Heberts had been expecting Taylor’s teacher, but they didn’t recognise this woman. Melanie narrowed her eyes. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Hebert,” the woman said. “Please, have a seat.”  
  
Danny and Melanie sat opposite her. As they were sitting down, Danny whispered a single word in Melanie’s ear: “Behave.”  
  
Melanie smiled at him. It filled his heart with dread.  
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” the older woman said, offering Danny a hand to shake. “My name is Candice Fraser. I’m a student supervisor here at Westbrook Elementary.”  
  
Danny shook her hand, and she turned it to Melanie—who stared at Ms. Fraser’s outstretched hand and pointedly did nothing else. Ms. Fraser paused, then withdrew her hand, coughing demurely into a handkerchief. “Shall we get things started?”  
  
Melanie nodded. “Where’s Laura?”  
  
Danny gave his wife an exasperated look. She pretended not to see it.  
  
“I will be filling in for her,” Ms. Fraser explained. “Mrs. Walsh has been on sick leave since Tuesday. But she has provided me with a copy of her papers for all of her students.”  
  
“Uhuh.” Melanie sniffed with as much disdain as she could manage. “So—”  
  
Danny interrupted her. “Papers?”  
  
Melanie narrowed her eyes at him, her lips quirking at the corners—the portrait of mischievous. Danny flashed her a charming smile, then turned back to Ms. Fraser. _So that’s how you want to play this, hm?_ Melanie thought. _Fine by me_.  
  
“Yes, papers,” Ms. Fraser said. “Her report card and some work samples, mostly. Teacher comments and information on Taylor’s behaviour can be found on the former, and I can answer any questions you may have.” She pushed the sheets of paper toward Danny. He picked up the report card, only for Melanie to steal it out of his hand. He elected not to glare at her—it wasn’t worth the effort.  
  
“Taylor has shown a particular interest—and ability—in her English classes,” Ms. Fraser continued. “Persuading children to read often poses difficulties to us, but Taylor has taken to her reading and writing assignments with great fervour.” She tapped the extra pieces of paper. “These are some of her writing assignments, including an essay about her daily routine, a fiction piece answering the question ‘What would you do if you had superpowers,’ and a short poem about her dog. Taylor has also—”  
  
Ms. Fraser paused as Melanie snatched the assignments, then leaned back and placed her feet onto the table. “Oh, don’t mind me,” Melanie said with a smile, leafing through the sheets. “Please continue.”  
  
“Um… yes.” Ms. Fraser reached for a bag beside her chair. Danny took the chance to glare at his wife; she stuck her tongue at him. “As I was saying—” Danny and Melanie assumed normal facial expressions as Ms. Fraser withdrew a few pieces of paper and canvas from the bag, placing them on the table. “—Taylor also appears to very much enjoy her Art classes. These are a few samples. You may take as many of these home as you wish.”  
  
Danny nodded, glancing over a few of Taylor’s drawings and paintings. There was an adorable little finger-painting of their dog, Snoopy—that was _definitely_ going on the fridge. Then he spotted a drawing that depicted a woman with mouse ears and a sword fighting off some kind of flying creature—perhaps a dragon or a red bat; he couldn’t tell—in protection of Snoopy, who cowered behind the woman. He frowned. They might need to have another talk with her about secret identities.  
  
“What’s this one?” he asked, turning the painting around. Melanie looked up from the English samples, straining to get a view. He intentionally aimed it away from her—forcing her to stand up and lean over the table to see.  
  
Ms. Fraser shifted her spectacles. “I believe that was created when her class was asked to draw their favourite superheroes. Each student will be holding a presentation next month, on the same topic.”  
  
Melanie grinned, dropping into her seat again. “Mouse Protector, huh?” She bumped Danny with her elbow. “Our little girl has good taste. Her favourite hero is Mouse Protector—who is objectively the most hilarious person in the Bay— _and_ she _hates_ your cooking! She really takes after me.”  
  
“That she does,” Danny said. “Maybe we ought to have you both checked.”  
  
Melanie scoffed and kicked his shin. “Rude.”  
  
“But true.”  
  
Melanie tilted her head. “Fair point,” she said with a grin. Then she turned back to reading one of Taylor’s writing assignments.  
  
Danny reached over and grabbed the report card Melanie still held in her hands. She tightened her grip, stopping him from taking it. He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she returned it—she wouldn’t give it up without a fight. He leaned in and breathed in her ear: “Moist.” Melanie shuddered in revulsion, giving him the chance to tug the report card from her hands. “Thanks.”  
  
Melanie made a face and mouthed “Thanks” back mockingly. Then she slouched in her chair and put her feet on the table again—kicking her shoes off just for good measure.  
  
Danny rolled his eyes, then remembered where they were. He turned back to Ms. Fraser, who was watching the exchange with a frown on her face. “Sorry about that,” Danny said. He’d gotten caught up in Melanie’s rhythm again. That usually ended in disaster. “Are there any subjects Taylor’s been struggling with?”  
  
“…Yes,” Ms. Fraser said, staring at Melanie’s feet. “She has a clear dislike for Physical Education—more-so the class than the physical activity itself; she willingly engages other students during recess, and seems to enjoy playing tag. We suspect… I’m sorry, Mrs. Hebert, are you eating candy?”  
  
Danny glanced over at his wife—she was indeed eating candy. Pop rocks. He frowned. He had no idea when she’d bought that. Melanie grinned. “Yup,” she said. “Want some?” She held the packet up and opened her mouth, letting the noise of the candy’s popping fill the room.  
  
Ms. Fraser frowned. “No, thank you,” she said, then turned back to Danny. “We suspect Taylor does not… um…” Ms. Fraser looked at Melanie again—she had to stretch up and peer over the table to see Melanie’s face. “Would you kindly close your mouth, Mrs. Hebert?”  
  
“Ah?” Melanie said, without closing her mouth. She scooped some more pop rocks onto her tongue. Danny raised a hand to his lips and tried to keep from laughing. Melanie noticed, and grinned—as much as she could with her mouth wide-open.  
  
“Your mouth, Mrs. Hebert. Would you please close it? I am trying to speak to your husband, and it is… rather distracting.”  
  
Melanie closed her mouth. “So? Kids are plenty distracting. You deal with them every day. You should be an expert at ignoring this kind of shit.”  
  
Ms. Fraser twitched visibly. “I would also ask that you not swear, please.”  
  
Melanie raised an eyebrow. “I can’t say ‘shit’?” Ms. Fraser twitched again. “Why the fuck not?” Another twitch. Ms. Fraser’s jaw tightened.  
  
Danny put his hand on Melanie’s thigh, squeezing gently—one of their long-standing signs that she should tone it down. They had several.  
  
Melanie glanced at him and rolled her eyes. “Fiiiine,” she said. “I won’t say ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’ again for the next… five minutes.” She shifted on her chair—her feet still on the table—and emptied the packet of pop rocks into her mouth.  
  
Ms. Fraser released her held breath slowly. “Thank you.” She turned back to Danny. “Where was I?”  
  
“Uh… something about P.E.”  
  
She shifted her spectacles and nodded. “Ah, yes. We believe Taylor holds a strong dislike of participating in activities she does not enjoy. She has thrown several tantrums in her P.E. classes when requested to take part in certain activities, such as rope climbing, among others. We have had to put her in time-out several times, and she—”  
  
Melanie opened her mouth again, letting the pop rocks pop. Danny snorted before he could stop it.  
  
Ms. Fraser slapped her hand down on the table. “Mrs. Hebert, please!”  
  
Danny squeezed his wife’s thigh again. Melanie closed her mouth and swallowed the candy. “Maybe you should stop forcing her to do them, then,” she said, sitting up.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You said she threw tantrums when you told her to climb the rope,” Melanie clarified. “So if you stop forcing her to do it, you won’t have a problem. It’s not like it matters. Rope climbing’s totally worthless anyway. Who ever heard of someone who _climbs ropes_ for a living? Doesn’t happen in the real world.”  
  
“The tantrums are indicative of a larger behavioural issue, Mrs. Hebert,” Ms. Fraser said. “Taylor refuses to do what she is asked to do simply because she dislikes it. In the ‘real world,’ as you put it, we often need to do things we do not enjoy for the good of others—and the good of ourselves. Refusing to do so would preclude her from being a productive member of society. A world solely comprised of hedonists is no world at all.”  
  
“Pfft,” Melanie said. “That sounds like a fat load of bull to me. I never climbed the rope, either, and I threw a million tantrums in school. And I turned out _great_!”  
  
Ms. Fraser stared at her.  
  
Danny couldn’t stop himself from laughing, burying his face in his free hand. Melanie grinned.  
  
Ms. Fraser looked between them, then released a long-suffering sigh, crossing her hands on the table. “I do believe you are making fun of me, Mrs. Hebert.”  
  
Melanie shrugged. “Believe what you want. No skin off my nose.”  
  
“Indeed.” Ms. Fraser dabbed at her lips with her handkerchief. “I must confess, Mrs. Hebert: I have met thousands of parents over the years, but somehow I think you may be the most aggravating person I have ever had the pleasure of dealing with.”  
  
Melanie smiled and held a hand to her heart. “Aww,” she said. “Thank you.”  
  
“I’m really sorry about her,” Danny said, resting his chin on his free hand. “I made the mistake of marrying a child.”  
  
Melanie nodded. “Then he married me to get out of prison.”  
  
Danny’s arm slipped, causing his head to smack against the table. He chuckled awkwardly. “That—uh—that was a joke.” He squeezed his wife’s thigh again. “And a rather _inappropriate_ one, Mel.”  
  
She rolled her eyes.  
  
“Now take your damn feet off the table, will you?”  
  
“Yes, dear,” Melanie said with a sigh, straightening so she was sitting normally.  
  
“And no more jokes, hm? You’ve had your fun.”  
  
She pursed her lips for a moment, then smiled. She shifted her chair a couple inches closer and patted his thigh comfortingly. “No problem, dear.”  
  
Danny was immediately suspicious. She was planning something—he just wasn’t sure _what_. With nothing else to do, he cleared his throat and turned back to Ms. Fraser, steepling his hands on the table. “What about her behaviour in regular classes?”  
  
Ms. Fraser blinked, then cleared her throat too, clearly still recovering from Melanie’s earlier joke. “Well, as her report card states, Taylor is mostly well-behaved in class…” Ms. Fraser went on to describe, in detail, how Taylor was an eager participant in group activities—especially creative ones such as those in Music and Art—and how she seemed to greatly enjoy helping her peers understand class content and apply techniques taught in Art class.  
  
Danny tried his best to pay attention, but he quickly discovered why Melanie had agreed to stop misbehaving—she’d just turned her efforts from annoying Ms. Fraser to annoying _Danny_ … though ‘annoying’ may have been the wrong word.  
  
Her fingers slowly marched their way up his thigh, the same way she tickled Taylor before bedtime, only… _malevolent_. He glanced over at her—she sat slouched in her chair, giving the appearance of listening to Ms. Fraser speak. But he had enough experience dealing with her to recognise the curve to her lips. Melanie’s fingers stopped at his hips.  
  
Several seconds passed, and nothing happened. Then he realised her intentions, his eyes widening—he felt himself swell at the prospect, but now was _not_ the time. He reached one hand down to tap her arm. She glanced at him, out of the corner of her eye.  
  
“Don’t,” he mouthed.  
  
Melanie smiled, and he knew he’d guaranteed his own demise.  
  
“So, Candice,” Melanie said, turning back to Ms. Fraser and smiling sweetly. “Oh—Can I call you Candice?”  
  
Ms. Fraser blinked like an owl, then nodded. “I suppose. Do you have a question?”  
  
“Yes,” Melanie said. Danny inched his hand toward Melanie’s wrist, moving slow to avoid drawing her attention and alerting her to his presence— _just like you’d deal with a mouse_ , he thought with amusement. Then Melanie’s fingers snapped up to hook the waist of his pants. He froze. “How is she in recess? Does she get along with the other kids?”  
  
“She seems to, yes. Taylor is less outgoing than many of the other children, but by all reports she appears to become more active and sociable once that initial interaction hump has been passed successfully. There have been—”  
  
Melanie nodded. “Does she have many friends? We were a little worried—what with moving to a new school, and all—that she’d be lonely.”  
  
Danny glanced at Ms. Fraser as she peered at a document. Then she spoke. “Taylor has—”  
  
Melanie took advantage of Danny’s distraction to slip her hand into his pants and grab a handful. He shot upright, cursing himself in his head. Ms. Fraser was—thankfully—looking at Melanie, and hadn’t noticed his sudden jump. But he’d missed what she’d said.  
  
Melanie smiled. “Taylor’s told us about Emma before,” she said as she started to fondle him beneath the table. He clenched his teeth and cast a sidelong look her way. _Not funny_ , he thought. She squeezed, as if in retaliation to the thought. “I’m glad Taylor’s found a friend so quickly.”  
  
Danny carefully moved his hand down to grab Melanie’s wrist. She tightened her grip. He hid a wince, and withdrew his hand. Her grip loosened again.  
  
“Is she well-behaved?” Melanie asked as if nothing else were happening.  
  
“Mostly,” Ms. Fraser said. “There was one incident—you will be familiar—where Taylor punched another student, one… William Carr.”  
  
Melanie nodded and continued fondling Danny to hardness—she knew how to work him too well for him to stay flaccid, even if he tried. “I remember,” Melanie said. “He was picking on Emma, right?”  
  
Ms. Fraser glanced over her document again. “The report indicates Emma held possession of an orange ball, and refused to give it to William when he asked. He tried to take it from her, and Taylor punched him. They were both placed in time-out, as you know.”  
  
Melanie shrugged. “Kid was bein’ a brat. Doesn’t bother me.”  
  
“I’m aware,” Ms. Fraser said as Danny brought his hand down again. “Apart from that incident, Taylor has demonstrated a high standard of behaviour in the playground. She—”  
  
Danny grabbed Melanie’s arm and _pushed_ as hard as he could. That was a mistake. Her grip tightened on instinct, pulling on his dick painfully and leaving him hunched over the table, hissing through clenched teeth. Melanie tried not to laugh, giving him a few comforting strokes. They actually _did_ make him feel better.  
  
“Mr. Hebert? Are you quite alright?”  
  
Danny nodded. “F-fine,” he said. His voice was a little shaky from the pain—and a little husky from Melanie’s attentions. “Uh… you were saying?”  
  
Ms. Fraser reseated her spectacles. “Taylor has also demonstrated great compassion and a willingness to help her peers. As an example: a few days ago, a child tripped and scraped his knee on a tree root. Taylor retrieved a teacher when he started crying, then accompanied them both to the nurse’s office and helped the nurse apply a band-aid.”  
  
“Oooh,” Melanie said, bumping Danny’s shoulder with her head—her hand was still busy working his erection. “Maybe she’ll be a doctor! Rake in the big monies. Then _we_ can mooch off _her_!”  
  
Danny jerked his head in a nod, still hunched over himself. “L-living the dream,” he said. He put his hand on Melanie’s thigh and squeezed; mouthing, “Please stop,” when she turned. Danny did _not_ want to have an orgasm in a parent/teacher conference at his daughter’s school—and Melanie’s fingers were _very_ skilled.  
  
Melanie smiled. “Well, thank you very much, Candice,” she said, straightening and taking her hand out of Danny’s pants. He released his held breath. “This has been helpful, but I don’t think we should keep you any longer.” She gathered up Taylor’s work samples. “We’ll take all of these.”  
  
Ms. Fraser nodded and helped Melanie collate the papers into a folder. Danny bit his lip and watched the cruel woman he’d married, his erection still in full force.  
  
A minute later, Danny exited the conference room and strode down the hall as the aide—Amber—called for the next set of parents. Melanie hooked her arm in Danny’s and skipped alongside him, a goofy grin on her face.  
  
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Danny said, giving her an exasperated look.  
  
Melanie giggled. “It’s in my nature.”  
  
“That was a rhetorical question.” He’d known his wife for far too long to truly expect good behaviour. The fact that _Taylor_ was well-behaved could only be considered an utter miracle, considering her parentage. “But you did go a little too far there.”  
  
Melanie pouted, then pulled his arm between her breasts. She’d undone a few buttons, revealing her cleavage—he had no idea when she’d done that. “I’m sowwyyy,” she said.  
  
Danny smirked. “No, you’re not.”  
  
“Nope,” Melanie said, popping the _P_. She stopped, forcing him to stop too, then started pulling him toward a closet. Her free hand grabbed his bulge. “Maybe you should punish me.”  
  
Danny stared at her, very aware of how hard he was. He looked around—the hallway was empty. Then he growled and grabbed his wife by the throat, pulling her into the closet and shoving her against the wall. “If you can’t behave yourself, maybe I should.”  
  
Melanie vanished with an almost-silent _pop_ , and then _he_ was being pushed up against the wall. She must have tagged the door when they’d entered. “You’d have to catch me, first,” she breathed, her voice husky and sexy.  
  
Danny growled again, then spun around. He grabbed both her wrists with one hand and pinned her to the wall again—face-first, this time. Melanie opened her mouth to speak, but Danny grabbed her head and kissed her. She moaned appreciatively and ground her ass against his erection.  
  
Danny reached around to undo her pants, and pulled them—and her panties—down to her knees. Then he cupped her pussy, drawing another moan from his wife’s lips. She was more than wet enough already.  
  
He let go of her wrists and spun her around, kissing her again. Melanie’s hands immediately went to _his_ pants, freeing his dick from its trappings. Then she wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. His cock slid between her thighs—her pussy coating it in her wetness. Her breath hitched as he pressed tighter against her, his hands cupping her ass, his mouth kissing down her neck.  
  
“Danny,” Melanie moaned, fumbling in her attempts to grab his cock. ”Danny—I _need it_.”  
  
Danny grunted and pulled back for a moment, lining himself up. “So do I,” he said, voice thick with arousal. “Ready?” Melanie nodded eagerly, stepping out of her pants. “Three. Two—”  
  
He thrust into her without waiting to finish the countdown. Melanie shrieked—a sound that soon turned into a moan as he pumped his length in and out of her pussy. She jumped into the air and wrapped her legs around his hips, letting him carry her—and letting him get even deeper.  
  
He fucked her as hard and relentlessly as he usually did—and her pussy was as tight and hot and wonderful as it had been the day they’d first met. She moaned and writhed in his arms, the walls shaking around them—he hoped the school was empty enough that no-one would notice. Her foot knocked a mop over with a clatter.  
  
Danny lifted her legs so her ankles were on his shoulders—she had always been very flexible. Then he grabbed her hips and flattened her against the wall, driving his cock deeper and deeper into her hot wetness, again and again and again and again. _Using_ her for his own pleasure… in a closet at their daughter’s elementary school. _So hot_ , Melanie thought. _My God_.  
  
Melanie shuddered in his arms, her pussy tightening around Danny’s length. He grunted and doubled down, fucking her harder and faster and deeper, hitting her g-spot with almost every thrust. Moans and wet slaps filled the air, the musky smells of sex filling their nostrils. Melanie pulled Danny down and kissed him as she came, her juices dripping onto the floor.  
  
He gasped as her pussy clenched and pulsed, gripping his cock even tighter. “Mel,” he said between panting breaths. “I’m gonna cum soon.”  
  
Melanie blinked the glaze from her eyes. “Oh!” she said. “Yes! Do it in my mouth!”  
  
Danny grunted. “Why?”  
  
“Not—” She gasped as his cock hit her in _just_ the right spot again, and she came for a second time, squirting ejaculate onto his waist and shuddering all over. “Dammit! It’s not— _ugh_ —safe!”  
  
“Oh!” Danny pulled out of her immediately, letting go of her hips. Melanie collapsed to her knees, but she still had the energy to take his dick in her mouth, sucking and lapping at his shaft. His cockhead bumped the back of her throat and he groaned, wrapping his hands in her hair. Being in her mouth was a very different feeling to being in her pussy, but it was just as warm—and it felt just as amazing.  
  
Melanie bobbed up and down on his cock, tasting her own juices and jerking his shaft with one hand. He was close enough that she didn’t have to work for long before he came too: hot semen filling his wife’s mouth. She pulled back and swallowed fervently, doing her damnedest to ensure all his cum went down her throat and not on the floor—they _were_ on public property, after all. He spread his legs and relaxed, enjoying the sensations.  
  
A short time later, Danny’s cock shot its last burst of cum onto his wife’s tongue. Melanie swallowed that, too, then released his already-softening penis. She leaned back and sighed in contentment, flashing him a tired grin. “Whoo! That was a lot,” she said, poking his leg playfully. “Maybe we should fuck in elementary schools more often.”  
  
Danny snorted. “Please tell me you’ll never say that around anyone else.”  
  
“If I do, will you punish me again?” She waggled her eyebrows.  
  
He kneeled down and gave her a slow kiss. “You bet your ass I will,” he said.  
  
Melanie grinned. “I’ll look forward to it.”  
  
—————————————————  
  
Danny opened the closet door and poked his head out into the hallway, looking both ways. The hallway was empty. “All clear,” he said, pushing the door open.  
  
Melanie walked out, doing up the top couple buttons on her blouse. She pressed up against him. “Do something with these, will you?” she said, placing something in his hand and curling his fingers around it. Then she kissed him on the cheek and hopped back with a grin.  
  
He opened his fist. Inside were Melanie’s bra and panties—both black lace. He jumped in shock, glancing about hurriedly and stuffing her underwear into his pocket. “Very funny.”  
  
“I thought so,” Melanie said. She smacked him on the ass, taking the time to squeeze his cheek. “You can give ‘em back tonight.”  
  
Then Melanie skipped down the hall. “C’mon, Danny!” she called over her shoulder. “You haven’t forgotten we need to pick up Taylor, right?”  
  
Danny shook his head ruefully, then followed after his wife with a smile. “Coming, dear.”


End file.
